


Wonderland

by jsmith69



Series: Twisted Rickyl (Not Your Toddler's Fairy Tales) [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Daryl, Daryl really hates pea soup, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Top Rick, food play (kind of but not really), shameless use of easter eggs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-20 08:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12429387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsmith69/pseuds/jsmith69
Summary: Daryl’s Friday night had not turned out the way it was supposed to - not even close to what he had planned - and he was irritated.He’d been looking forward to tonight since first thing that morning. He was supposed to be at the bar right now. He was supposed to be having a few beers and shooting pool with Rick.  He should be at the bar but instead, he was at home on his couch drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, glaring across the room at the source of his irritation.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noonesangel_noonesbitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noonesangel_noonesbitch/gifts).



> For the awesome and amazing, supremely talented and delightfully twisted noonesangel_noonesbitch on the occasion of her birth. I've said it before - for being there no matter what, for being my partner in crime, for being the best damn write-or-die on the planet, this is for you. I love you more than my favorite pair of funky socks! Happy Born Day To You!! <3
> 
> Many, many thanks to the equally talented and amazing pharmtechgirl71for taking the time to beta the first big chunk of this (even if I am difficult and made that great big change). Your unwavering friendship and support mean the world to me. Love you large! <3
> 
> Y'all, this is pure ridiculousness and I should really be ashamed of myself. Let's be clear, I'm not. But I should be. This fic is based loosely on the book Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, and just an itty bitty bit on one of the movies - like, five seconds of one of the movies - and it goes without saying that I take no credit for those. I also take no credit for TWD and its characters. However, the rest of this dumbassery is mine. Oh, and any errors are mine, too.

Daryl’s Friday night had not turned out the way it was supposed to - not even close to what he had planned - and he was irritated.

He’d been looking forward to tonight since first thing that morning. He was supposed to be at the bar right now. He was supposed to be having a few beers and shooting pool with Rick. He should be at the bar but instead, he was at home on his couch drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, glaring across the room at the source of his irritation. 

He wasn’t just irritated, he was good and pissed off.

**********

He’d been all set to hang out with Rick this weekend, maybe do a little fishing, until Lori called and pretty much demanded that Rick take Carl and Judith so she could attend a friend’s wedding out of town. Of course, he’d agreed, He never turned down an opportunity to spend time with his kids. Daryl had heard the excitement in his friend’s voice despite feeling bad about canceling on him, but he’d have expected nothing less. He would have been shocked and a little disappointed in Rick if he had turned down extra time with his kids just to hang out with him. That’s not to say he wasn’t disappointed that he’d be spending the weekend alone, with nothing but housework, yard work, and maybe a little hunting to keep him company.

It wasn’t that he never hung out with Rick when Carl and Judith were over, but he didn’t make a habit of it because he didn’t want to interfere with their time together. There was also the fact that Lori had never made it a secret that she didn’t like him - which suited him fine, he didn’t like her either so it worked out - and he didn’t like thinking that she grilled the kids with a million nosy questions if he’d been there. 

Then, in true Lori fashion, she had decided at the last minute to take the kids with her. Shit, last minute his left foot. He’s pretty sure she intended to take them all along. She loved to make Rick miserable even though they had been divorced for a year now. It was one of the several reasons why Daryl didn’t like her.

So of course when Rick had texted him that morning he’d agreed to meet him at the bar after work. 

It had been a good day. The workload at the garage had been lighter than usual for a Friday because of a mix up with some parts they’d been waiting on. Most days that would have put him in a snit, but today it had barely annoyed him. It didn’t even get on his nerves much when the guys teased him about being in such a good mood.

Then around four, just as they were cleaning up and ready to call it a day, Merle showed up. Merle, who’d left town eight months ago chasing a piece of tail. Who he’d only heard from once the whole time he’d been gone, and that had been several months ago. He’d met him halfway across the parking lot, his good mood fading fast with the growing suspicion that his plans were about to change. Again. 

He was right. 

His brother greeted him as if he had just seen him yesterday, as if he hadn’t been gone for almost a year, then asked him, “So, what we got goin’ on tonight?”

“Where the hell ya been this time, Merle?” Daryl asked, completely ignoring his question.

“Been down ta Alabama fer a bit, runnin’ ‘round with some boys I used ta know,” he answered with a casual shrug of a shoulder. 

“Ya get busted?” He wondered if that was why his brother was back. 

“Nah, but damn close. Figured I’d come check up on my baby brother.” He’d rubbed his hands together and grinned broadly. “So, whatcha say we go grab a cold one an’ do some catchin’ up?” 

Daryl shook his head. “Some other time, Merle. ’M meetin’ Rick after work.” 

Merle had dismissed him with a wave. “Ya still pinin’ away fer Friendly, huh? C’mon, ya can go on a date with him anytime. I’m only gon’ be ‘round a couple a weeks an’ I’ll be headed back.”

“Fuck you, Merle, ain’t a date an’ ya know it,” Daryl snapped at him. “An’ I ain’t gonna bail on ‘im just ‘cause ya decide to show up outta the blue.” And dammit he meant it. Merle did this to him every time, but this time it wasn’t going to happen. 

Except ten minutes later his brother had worn him down just like he always did, and Daryl hated himself for giving in just like he always did. He’d called Rick and explained that Merle had shown up and wouldn’t be in town long, and felt even worse when he’d heard the disappointment in his voice even though he promised him that he understood and that it was okay. 

“C’mon, little brother, I’ll buy ya a beer,” Merle had said as he clapped him on the back, satisfied that once again Daryl had dropped everything for him. “I’d say let’s head ta the titty bar, but I know there ain’t a chance in hell a convincin’ ya of that,” he’d cackled. 

“Ain’t goin’ to no damn strip club, Merle,” he’d grumbled.

“Not even if they had some pretty boy dressed up as a cop?” Merle teased.

“Keep talkin’ shit an’ I ain’t goin’.” 

**********

They had been there all of two hours when Merle got kicked out for running his big mouth and nearly starting a fight. Daryl was honestly surprised he’d made it more than an hour. That kind of shit never happened at Abe’s bar where he and Rick hung out, and he was beginning to regret his decision to ditch his friend for his brother. Back at Daryl’s house, Merle had pulled a couple of bottles of whiskey out of his saddlebags and declared that the night wasn’t over. 

Daryl looked at the clock on the wall. It was ten o’clock and the night was definitely over.

He leveled another glare across the coffee table at his brother as he tipped the bottle back and took another healthy swig of whiskey. Merle was sprawled out in the armchair, his head laid back and lolling to the side, piss-drunk, passed out, and snoring like a herd of buffalo galloping through a high school gymnasium with tap shoes on. Daryl was half-sideways himself. Okay, maybe more than half. 

He could be at the bar right now, pretending not to stare at Rick’s ass every time he bent over the pool table to take his shot, but instead he was staring at a tiny rivulet of drool meandering its way down Merle’s chin while his jackass of a brother slept it off. 

He took another drink before slamming the bottle down on the side table, almost missing and barely righting it before it toppled off onto the floor. He squinted over at the TV to see that Depp guy wearing a top hat over fuzzy orange hair, walking across the top of a long table kicking over cups and plates as he made his way to the other end.

He was definitely not in the mood for fairy tales.

He stretched his socked foot under the coffee table in another half-assed attempt to reach the remote that had fallen under there earlier, giving up for good this time when his toe merely nudged it farther away. There was probably nothing else on worth watching anyway. 

Being honest, he was glad Merle had passed out. For the better part of the last two hours, he’d been either yelling drunken commentary at the TV or giving Daryl shit about Rick. Merle knew he was gay, and while Daryl knew his brother wasn’t happy about it he let it slide because, as Merle said, ‘yer the only baby brother I got’. They had an unspoken agreement not to talk about it and Merle had made Daryl promise not to share stories of his sexual escapades (not that he had any, and not that he would share even if he did), but that didn’t stop Merle from talking shit. Especially about Rick.

He wasn’t sure where Merle got the idea that he’s been ‘pinin’ away’ for Rick anyway. He wasn’t wrong, he just didn’t know how Merle had figured that out. It’s not like he’d ever told a soul. 

Rick was the sheriff in King County and had lived there all his life. Daryl and Merle had lived there a little over five years. Well, Daryl had. Merle never stayed in one place for very long but he called King County home because Daryl was there. 

For the first year they were there, Rick was still a deputy and they weren’t even on each other’s radar. Then Merle went and got his first d&d. When Daryl had gone to bail him out he’d been charmed by a pair of sky blue eyes. The eyes belonged to the arresting officer, one Rick Grimes, and it had taken him days to get Rick and his killer blue eyes out of his head. Mostly because of the wedding ring he wore, but also because he knew he’d never have the nerve to approach him, even if Rick had enough sugar in his britches to sweeten every last gallon of tea in Georgia. 

Within the next year Merle had racked up three more d&d’s and an assault charge, and Rick and Daryl had somehow formed an unlikely friendship. A year later, Lori had dropped the bombshell that she was leaving Rick for his partner and who he thought was his best friend. Through all of that, they’d become closer than Daryl had ever imagined being with another person. He wasn’t even that close to Merle when you got right down to it. 

Except lately he’d been feeling more than just friendship for Rick. He wasn’t sure how it happened and he sure hadn’t meant for it to. He thought it was possible that he’d felt that way all along and had put it away, knowing there would never be anything more. Rick was truly the best friend he’d ever had and he would rather have that than nothing at all. Which was what he was sure he would have if he told him how he really felt. 

But shit, how could he not? It wasn’t just his eyes, it wasn’t just his perfect lips that curled into the sexiest smile he’d ever seen, that looked so soft that sometimes Daryl had a hard time not leaning in to see how soft they really were. It wasn’t just the way he wore that uniform - hat and all - better than any cop he’d ever seen, or the way his jeans fit him like a glove. That was all on the outside and it was a damn pretty package but on the inside, Rick was genuinely a good guy. He was kind and fair. Endlessly patient and the best dad Daryl had ever seen. 

Sometimes, he’d catch Rick watching him or looking at him a certain way that he couldn’t quite read. He was a hunter and he knew how to read all kinds of signs, except when it came to anything romantic or sexual. He was pretty clueless when it came to that shit, so for all he knew Rick was looking at him like that because he had something stuck in his teeth. Hell, Rick was the kind of friend who, on the few occasions that Daryl had noticed a guy, would check him out too and even weigh in with an opinion. On the other hand, when Rick noticed a woman Daryl was able to give an honest opinion, too, so that didn’t really mean anything. He was married and had kids after all, so Daryl figured he was probably seeing something that wasn’t really there. Wishful thinking and all that. 

Besides, Daryl was fully aware that Rick was way out of his league anyway. 

He sighed heavily and dropped his head back onto the cushion behind him, trying not to think about Rick. Trying not to wonder what he’d done tonight if anything. Trying not to wonder if he’d gone on to the bar anyway, maybe found somebody else to shoot pool with. He chose to ignore the spike of jealousy he felt at that thought as he snatched the bottle from the table and downed the remaining three fingers of amber liquid, long past feeling the burn as it went down. He hoped Rick’s night hadn’t turned out as shitty as his own and he worried that Rick might be mad at him for ditching him at the last minute. 

Merle let out a loud snort and turned his head, then his snoring resumed. Daryl shot another death glare at his brother before heaving himself forward to sit on the edge of the couch. His plan had been to get up and go pass out in his own bed, but the pitch and spin of the room at the sudden movement convinced him that he’d be just fine where was until morning. 

He shifted around to lie back on the couch and managed to get one leg up, although the other one didn’t quite make it and he saw no good reason to keep trying. He flung one arm up over his eyes and waited for the couch to stop lurching and swaying and when it finally did Rick’s face, with its kind smile, floated across the backs of his eyelids. He figured he should probably find a way to make it up to him, but before he could begin to think about it he was out like a light.

********** 

Daryl woke the next morning at sunrise. He knew it was sunrise because when he peeled one eye open the first rays of light had wormed their way between the curtains on the front window and were boring directly into his retina. He turned his head away from the window before peeling the other eye open, then peeled his tongue off the roof of his mouth. He tried to gather enough spit in his mouth to at least swallow, but it was a lost cause. He couldn’t have wet a postage stamp if his life depended on it. He could, however, easily wet the couch if he didn’t take a piss soon. 

He became aware of the pounding against the inside of his skull and the sick roll of his stomach the minute he sat up on the couch, about the same time he realized that Merle hadn’t moved a muscle and was still snoring away. For this reason, he skipped the bathroom in favor of going through the kitchen and out the back door, slamming it behind him as hard as he dared on his way out. 

Fucking Merle.

When he went back inside he slammed the door again, hard enough that it bounced back open so he slammed it again. He hadn’t been hungover in more years than he could count and when he walked into the living room to find that the noise hadn’t even fazed his brother he decided to blame it squarely on him. Nevermind that Merle hadn’t forced him to drink nearly a whole bottle of whiskey by himself, he was happy to blame him anyway. He was also somewhat gratified to realize that Merle was going to have one hell of a crick in his neck when he did wake up.

Once he’d showered and brushed his teeth, he chased down a couple of aspirin with a whole bottle of water and half of another, then made himself some toast. It wasn’t quite eight and Merle was still out cold. Hell, he probably wouldn’t wake up until noon and Daryl had no intention of sitting around the house watching him sleep.

He threw together a few sandwiches and stuffed them into his pack along with several bottles of water, grabbed his crossbow, then glared at his brother once more for good measure before going out to his truck. 

The short drive out to the county line with the windows down helped to clear his head a little, but even with that and the water and aspirin, he was still half hungover. It was hot as fuck even for the middle of September, and especially for this early in the morning. He had to question his own wisdom at the idea of hunting in this heat, but right then he preferred sweating his balls off to being home when Merle woke up. 

He hadn’t been in the woods more than ten minutes when he saw a fat rabbit, coincidentally right about the same time his stomach rumbled loudly. He’d known one piece of toast wouldn’t last long, but he hadn’t wanted to overdo it. Now, though, he felt like he could eat that whole rabbit by himself. 

So he did just that. Well, nearly anyway. He ate his fill and sat for a minute to appreciate the quiet like he always did when it was just him and the woods. Of course, there was birdsong, the chatter of squirrels, the whisper of a warm breeze through the leaves overhead. If he listened hard enough he could hear water rushing over rocks in the creek that ran a little south of where he was. 

Those sounds belonged there though, so in his mind, they only called attention to how quiet and peaceful it was in this space he called his own. He’d hunted these woods every chance he got since he moved to King County and he knew them like the back of his hand. Still, as much as he would have loved to sit there and enjoy it he knew the game wasn’t going to track itself. Reluctantly, he put out the small fire and then he was moving again.

An hour later he stopped to take a break from tracking in exchange for a patch of shade under a small cluster of trees. He wasn’t sure if it was the temperature or if he was still a little hungover - maybe both - but Christ it was hot. He pulled a bottle of water out of his pack and drank nearly the whole thing before tossing it beside his pack. It was just as well, he thought. He hadn’t seen any tracks, probably because of the heat, and he wasn’t as focused as he usually was anyway because his thoughts kept wandering to Rick. He was beginning to wonder if it was worth coming out here at all until he remembered Merle passed out in the chair at home. 

Yeah, it was definitely worth it. 

**********

Daryl woke to the sound of rustling in the underbrush. Not the rustling of something small, like a squirrel or another rabbit, but something much larger. It took him a minute to realize he’d fallen asleep. He looked up at the sun to see that he hadn’t slept more than an hour when he heard the rustling of leaves move closer. 

He grabbed his crossbow and got to his feet in time to see a doe picking its way through the underbrush. It was small, but it was big enough. He followed it almost a mile before he was able to get a clear shot and when he finally did, he took aim and let the bolt fly. _Got it_. It took off the second the bolt pierced its tender flesh and he followed. He hadn’t tracked it for more than another mile when he heard another rustling in the underbrush to his right. 

He turned around to see...Hershel?

The old farmer was hobbling through the woods trying his best not to stumble. He’d lost his leg in a farming accident and Daryl knew he was still getting used to the prosthetic. _The hell’s he doin’ this far out in the woods?_

He was hurrying along with his head down, picking his way carefully through the underbrush in his haste. He didn’t notice Daryl standing there gaping at him as he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. 

“Oh Lord, I’m gonna be late,” he mumbled to himself as he abruptly made a right turn and hurried off ahead of Daryl. 

Curious now, Daryl followed him at a distance, keeping one eye on the old man and the other looking out for his deer. Hershel walked another hundred yards before he stopped and looked around, then bent down and scrambled behind a large mountain laurel growing just off the narrow path. 

Daryl stared for a minute, more confused than before, and waited for him to reappear. When he didn’t he approached the bush slowly. Hershel was nowhere to be seen. 

_What the hell?_

He looked around, peering as far into the trees as he could see, but the old man was just gone. Finally, he circled the bush slowly, worried now as to what he might find, but when he reached the opposite side Hershel wasn’t there. Studying the ground he noticed a hole. A _huge_ hole, every bit of three feet across. He looked around once more and when he still didn’t see the farmer he squatted at the edge of the opening to get a closer look, his deer temporarily forgotten. 

Upon closer inspection, he thought it looked more like a burrow of some sort. He had no idea what could have made a burrow this size but he knew it was a _what_ and not a _who_. He’d been hunting his whole life and he knew the difference between a burrow and a man-made hole. 

Despite the sun riding high in the sky and the widely spaced trees letting in plenty of sunlight through the sparse canopy of leaves, it was as black as pitch no more than a foot into the hole; he couldn’t see a thing. 

He leaned in closer, wishing he’d thought to put a flashlight in his pack although he knew there had been no good reason to. Then he realized it wouldn’t have mattered anyway since his pack was two miles back under the tree, forgotten in his hurry to track the deer. 

His foot shifted as he moved and without warning the dirt at the edge of the hole gave way under his boot. He panicked a little and his arm flailed blindly behind him, trying desperately to grab onto one of the thin branches of the laurel bush, not even certain it would hold his weight. He didn’t get the chance to find out as not a second later he was sliding on his ass into the hole. 

Another minute later and his ass left the dirt and he was falling straight down. 

Well fuck.

 

He was trying his best to stay upright and he thought he was, it felt like he was, but it was hard to tell because the darkness was an inky black. It felt thick like it was pressing in on him, and although he’d never been claustrophobic before he thought he just might be by the time this was over. He cussed loudly when he banged his knee against the side of the hole, then let go of a whole string of curses when he grazed his elbow not once, but twice. 

He couldn’t know for sure but it felt like he was falling slowly. But why would he be? If he was falling straight down shouldn’t he be plummeting to his death or something? It occurred to him to hope that the hole didn’t get narrower as he went, otherwise he’d be stuck there and nobody would ever know where he was. 

He wondered how long he’d been falling. There was no way for him to know that either but it felt like a long damn time and shouldn’t he have reached the bottom by now? He knew he’d been falling long enough to wonder where he’d end up and how in the hell he was going to get out. 

The further he fell the wider the burrow became. He wasn’t sure how he knew that he could just tell. At any rate, it was much better than the hole getting smaller. He had to wonder what in the hell kind of animal dug a hole like this. Maybe it was a chupacabra. Did chupacabras dig burrows? He didn’t think so but he really didn’t know for sure. The one time he’d seen one he hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out. 

Maybe this wasn’t a burrow at all. When he was a kid he’d wondered like all kids did he supposed if it was possible to dig a hole straight through to the other side of the earth. Maybe somebody had decided to find out and that’s what this was. Maybe he wasn’t going to land at all but fall for days until he popped up in...shit...he had no idea where he’d pop up. He had a sense of direction as good as any compass but he had sucked at geography. Not that his sense of direction was doing him any good in this big ass, deep ass, dark ass hole. 

All he knew was that he was still falling straight down. 

He felt his stomach rumbling again and remembered the sandwiches still in his pack abandoned underneath the tree. They wouldn’t do him any good by the time he got out of here anyway, they were going to spoil in the heat. That thought led him to realize how hot it still was. It should be a lot cooler underground, especially as far as he thought he’d fallen, but it was still every bit as hot as it was in the woods. 

He wondered if he’d died and was on his way to hell.

He didn’t wonder for long. The burrow had widened enough that he suddenly pitched forward and then he was tumbling ass over elbows. With every circuit he could see the circle of light at the top of the hole, already tiny, getting smaller and smaller until it was no bigger around than a teacup, then it closed in on itself and disappeared. 

He’d been falling long enough now that he was beginning to feel sleepy, or maybe it was all the tumbling he was doing. He felt like he might doze off when suddenly and without warning he came to an abrupt halt, landing on his ass in a pile of leaves and twigs with a punched out _oomph_.

For a minute he sat perfectly still, afraid to move a muscle. After all, it wasn’t the fall that would kill you but that sudden stop at the bottom. Finally, he tentatively wiggled his toes, then his fingers. He moved his arms and legs then tilted his head side to side, cracking his neck and rotating his shoulders. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he was unhurt. 

He finally got to his feet and looked up into the complete and utter darkness, then turned to look around him. He found himself in a long, dimly lit passageway, not surprisingly made entirely of dirt. At the very end of the passage, he saw Hershel hobbling along with a slight limp. Just before he turned the corner out of sight Daryl heard him mumble, “My stars and garters, look how late it is!”

Daryl followed him, partly because the old man looked like he might know where he was going and partly because, well, what the hell else was he going to do? He turned the corner into another shorter passageway, dimly lit by the flicker of what appeared to be a gas lamp hanging from the dirt ceiling at the other end. Again, Hershel was nowhere to be seen. _Fucker’s quick to be hobblin’ ‘round on one good leg_ , he thought. Hershel might know his way around down here, but if he couldn’t catch up with him he was screwed.

He looked around again and noticed that there were three doors on either side of the passage. He tried opening each one but found they were all locked. He even tried knocking on the last two but got no answer. He briefly considered kicking one down but decided he didn’t want to announce his presence to whoever or whatever might be on the other side. And he definitely wasn’t ready to draw the attention of whatever had made this place. 

Then he noticed a small table sitting at the other end of the hallway, and as he approached it he saw that the glass top held only an old, tarnished gold key and a pint mason jar half full of water. He immediately took the key and tried the lock on each door, but if the key wasn’t too big for the lock then the lock was too big for the key. 

Now he was just this side of pissed. What the hell good was a key if it didn’t fit any of the damn locks? 

He took a deep breath and released it with a heavy sigh, hanging his head. When he did, he noticed a curtain practically hidden by the table. It was no taller than knee-high, so he wasn’t really all that surprised when he pulled it aside to reveal a door that was no taller. He tried the key, and wouldn’t you know it, it fit. He leaned down to see that this door opened onto another short passageway. The ceiling wasn’t quite the height of the small door, and it was narrow enough that he knew there was no way his shoulders were getting through there. This passageway was unlit, but he could see light at the other end. It looked like it led to what he could only assume was a garden. He could just make out grass and brightly colored flowers and what he thought were fountains. 

He turned and sat heavily with his back to the wall, letting out a huff of frustration. He eyed the mason jar and realized he was a bit thirsty, and since his remaining water was in his pack with the sandwiches what harm could it do to drink this?

He stood and took the jar from the table, but stopped when he brought it to his mouth. It definitely was not water. He sniffed it, then sniffed it again and realized it was moonshine. _What the hell?_ He sniffed it once more. _Peach _moonshine. He hated peach moonshine, and the last thing he wanted right then was liquor of any kind, but he was awfully thirsty so he took a big drink. He let the taste sit on his tongue long enough to realize it was quality stuff, so he drank it all.__

__He turned to look around again and immediately felt the effects of the shine. It had gone to his head really quickly and he was sorry he drank it because he needed to be able to focus. Well, nothing to be done about it now._ _

__He set the jar back on the table and turned again to see that the passageway was now cavernous. It was twice as wide and the ceiling was twice as high. His head whipped back to look at the jar but he found himself staring directly at one of the table’s legs. He was only half its size. _What in the ever loving fuck was in that jar?_ He felt himself beginning to panic and he almost did until he realized excitedly that now he should be able to fit through the tiny passageway._ _

__He quickly knelt to crawl through, but his excitement was short-lived when he realized his damn shoulders were still too wide to fit. If he hadn’t wanted to get stuck in that big ass hole, he damn sure didn’t want to get stuck in this little bitty one._ _

__He sat back against the wall again and spent a good half minute cussing and scrubbing his hands over his face before he decided he was done fucking with these doors. He was clearly not going to find the way out through any of them and besides, he was barely tall enough to reach the latches now anyway. He got up and went to the end of the passage, turning the corner in the direction that Hershel went._ _

__And found himself in another one almost identical to the one he just left._ _

__Son of a bitch._ _

__This passageway looked mostly the same as the previous one except it was much longer and was lined with doors as far as the eye could see. In fact, it seemed endless from where he was standing. The other difference was that one minute this one appeared to have twenty-foot ceilings, the next minute he had to crouch to get through it._ _

__Gas lamps were mounted on the walls between each of the doors, and despite being somewhat brighter than the previous passage, the flickering flames threw shadows on the dirt surrounding him that appeared to be dancing, as if they were taunting him, mocking his predicament._ _

__If he ever got out of here he might look back one day and see the humor in all of this. For now, it wasn’t fucking funny._ _

__Stretching tall to reach the latch, he tried the first door on his right and found it locked. As was the one across the hall. He was pretty sure that wasn’t a good sign. He remembered the key in his pocket and let out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t left it on the table. As he dug into his pocket to get it, he noticed for the first time the flower beds that neatly lined either side of the passageway for a short distance._ _

__They were full of brightly colored flowers, bigger than he’d ever seen. They kind of reminded him of a child’s drawing. The stems were thick, more like stalks really, and the centers were huge. When he stepped closer he saw that the flowers had...faces...just before they blushed brightly and turned their heads as if shying away from him._ _

__He took a minute to let that sink in - as much as it could anyway - then continued on, his boots silent on the dirt floor. His steps slowed when he heard what he thought were whispers, despite having been alone only moments ago. He stopped and turned quickly, just in time to catch the flowers turning their heads again as the whispering stopped. As soon as he started off again the whispering resumed._ _

__He didn’t know what to think. It was weird enough when he had fallen into what may or may not be a chupacabra burrow. Weirder still when he drank shine that had either shrunk him or had grown the burrow. Talking flowers were something else entirely and he wasn’t quite sure if he should pretend they weren’t there or simply embrace it as part of the experience._ _

__He kept on his way, but if he listened closely enough he could just catch snippets of what was being said._ _

__Some were merely wondering who this stranger was. Where did he come from? How did he get here?_ _

__He could hear the high-pitched sniggering of female voices. “Whoever he is, he’s hot!”_ _

__A blush rose to his cheeks but he kept walking._ _

__A few more steps and the heat reached all the way to the tips of his ears and set them burning when he heard what could only be the lower tenor of a male voice say, “And he’s got a great ass!”_ _

__He stopped and turned again, narrowing his eyes at the flowers, but they had all quieted and turned away from him again, and he continued down the passage to silence this time._ _

__He passed the next two doors on his left then pulled the key back out of his pocket and stopped in front of the next one. He had to stand on tiptoe, as he could still barely reach the latch, but he found the door unlocked. He pushed it open slowly and only enough to stick his head in, then he peered around the door._ _


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're down the rabbit hole. Well, poor Daryl is. 
> 
> He's just about to find out what's behind door number one...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the reads, kudos, and kind words. They make me supremely happy. :))

_He passed the next two doors on his left then pulled the key from his pocket and stopped in front of the next one. He had to stand on tiptoe, as he could still barely reach the latch, and found the door unlocked. He pushed it open slowly and only enough to stick his head in, then he peered around the door._

**********

The room was huge, easily the size of a gymnasium, and was made entirely of dirt like the passageways. 

Parked right in the center was an RV he immediately recognized, and sitting in a lawn chair on top of the RV, his ever-present bucket hat perched on his head, was his boss, Dale. He was holding a fishing pole - not one of the nice ones that he loved so much, but an old cane pole with fishing line tied to the end - and he was fishing off the side of the RV. 

Dale hadn’t noticed him yet, so he took a minute to let his gaze travel the length of the pole, down the length of fishing line, and settle on...a caterpillar?

It was huge, the biggest fucking caterpillar he’d ever seen and he tilted his head to study it. At least a foot in length and nearly as big around as his thigh, it looked oddly cartoonish. It was trying desperately to scramble its way up the fishing line, but every time it made even the least bit of progress Dale would flick the pole and it would slide back down to settle in the crook of the ridiculously large hook tied to the end of the line. It was clearly nervous, almost frantic, casting a panicked glance up the line, then over to Daryl, then staring wide-eyed at the pond just underneath it. 

Well, maybe not an actual pond, although it looked like one. It was small. Actually, it was tiny, no bigger around than Judith’s kiddie pool that sat in Rick’s backyard. The water was crystal clear, clearer than any pond water he’d ever seen, with what looked like glitter floating across the surface reflecting the light. A rickety wooden sign stood amid a cluster of cattails on the far side that read “Golden Pond”. 

Dale looked up to see him standing there and smiled broadly. “Hey there, Daryl. Wanna join me? Throw out a line?”

Daryl stared for another minute before he looked up at Dale. “Uh...nah...I’m tryin’ to…”

Dale cut him off. “Rick was gonna come fishin’ with me, but he had some party he had to get to at the last minute. Said it was real important and he couldn’t miss it.”

Daryl’s expression twisted in confusion. “Ya mean he just bailed on ya?” That didn’t sound like Rick at all unless maybe it was a party for one of the kids. Dale dismissed the question with a wave.

“It’s fine. He’s not the type to be mad about stuff like that.” 

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “Wait, didn’t ya say _he_ bailed on _you_? Why should he be mad?”

“Oh, he’s not. Rick’s a good man. He would never hold it against a fella for backin’ out at the last minute. He’s real understandin’ like that,” Dale explained without explaining anything at all. 

Daryl was seriously confused, although admittedly no more confused than he had been since spotting Hershel hobbling through the woods. 

“Sure ya won’t join me?” Dale asked again. 

“Nah, thanks. I gotta be goin’. See ya later.” With a last glance at the distraught caterpillar, he slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him. 

 

He glanced around to see that the passageway was still empty, save for the flowers that were all still turned away from him, before walking quietly along. He had no idea how many doors he passed before he stopped in front of one on the right-hand side this time. He stood on his tiptoes to test the latch and found it locked, but this time the key slipped right in the hole. A perfect fit.

Again he opened the door only far enough to peer in around it, and found that this one opened into a meadow. Well, a meadow of sorts. This room was huge, too, about the same size as the one where he’d found Dale. The ceiling and walls were dirt but the floor was covered entirely with grass. Definitely a meadow.

Except…

The grass and flowers were nearly as tall as him, and taller than those were the mushrooms that were scattered here and there. They were tall enough that as he entered the room fully he passed directly beneath one. The cap was enormous, big enough around that at least five men his size could fit comfortably underneath it.

He couldn’t be sure if he was still shrunk or if everything in this room was really this tall, and again he was sorry he ever drank that damn moonshine. 

He stopped and stood quietly, his eyes narrowed as they swept the room. Or rather, what he could see of the room. For all he knew anything could be hiding among the grass and flowers waiting for him to come closer, and he found that to be a very unsettling thought. 

He listened for any sounds and he thought he heard something, but it wasn’t a sound he could easily identify. The longer he listened, the more he was sure that it was coming from the top of the mushroom he was currently standing under. 

He stepped quietly as he moved. The mushroom was tall, but if he took a few steps back and stood on tiptoe…

He peered over the top and his eyes grew wide when he saw Merle lounging on top of the mushroom.

Smoking a hookah.

Merle hadn’t seen him yet and he took a deep toke, choking just a little before releasing the smoke, the thick, milky cloud encircling his head. When the smoke cleared he was looking right at Daryl.

“That you little brother?” he asked with a squint.

Daryl stood quietly for a minute with his hands on his hips. He wondered how the hell Merle had ended up down here, although most of the time it seemed far more likely for his brother to be the one to fall in a big ass hole in the middle of the woods.

“Yeah, s’me,” he finally answered. _Least I think s’me_ , he mumbled under his breath.

“Whatcha mean by that?” his brother asked around a mouthful of smoke.

“Nothin’,” he answered, then added, “I mean...ya see...m’jus’ not feelin’ like myself right now.”

“Nah, I don’t see,” Merle said, then took another toke.

“Well, I dunno how to explain it then,” Daryl answered with a shake of his head, arching a brow at his brother sprawled out on top of a giant mushroom with a hookah. “Why don’t ya tell me what the fuck ya doin’ down here anyway, Merle?” 

“Why?” Merle barked out.

Daryl would have never thought it possible for his brother to be even more infuriating. He glared at him, fists clenched at his sides, and without another word turned to leave the way he’d come in. 

“C’mon back here, baby brother. Got somethin’ important to say,” Merle hollered after him.

Daryl stopped. More often than not Merle didn’t have anything important to say, but every now and again he would make a point. So he turned back to listen.

“Hold that temper now,” Merle cautioned, then took another mighty pull from the hookah.

“That all?” Daryl asked. Same as last night, he was more than a little irritated with his brother. He didn’t have time to watch Merle get wasted. He still had to find a way out of this place. 

“Nah.” He took another long puff while Daryl waited. 

“Get on with it, Merle,” Daryl said, his voice low and warning.

“Say ya don’t feel like yaself?” Merle asked.

“Not really,” Daryl answered.

“Well hell, who do ya feel like then?” He let out a grating cackle, which happened to be more grating than usual right then. 

“Dammit, Merle, I feel like me ya idiot. Jus’ feelin’ a little off is all.” Daryl snapped.

Merle reached out and offered him the hose. “Need some a this so’s ya feel on again?” he asked with a broad smile. 

“Hell naw. Don’t think ya need no more neither,” Daryl said.

Merle shrugged lazily. “Suit yaself.”

He turned again to leave and got as far as the door before Merle spoke again. “Hey! Ya see that lil’ fat green fucker ya tell ‘im he best get on back here ‘fore it’s all gone.”

“He’s down the hall fishin’ with Dale,” Daryl told him.

Merle narrowed his eyes. “Fishin’?”

“Well, more like he’s the bait,” Daryl explained. 

“Thought yer boy Rick was goin’ fishin’ with Dale,” Merle grinned. 

It occurred to him to wonder how the hell Merle knew that, but he let it go. “Nah, had some party to get to. An’ ya know good an’ damn well he ain’t my boy,” he snapped.

Merle dropped the hose long enough to stretch lazily before picking it back up again. “Naw, I don’t know. Don’t git why the hell he ain’t neither.”

Daryl turned and jerked the door open and slammed it behind him, muttering to himself as he stalked up the passageway. _My day jus’ keeps gettin’ better an’ better_. 

 

He didn’t know how far he’d walked down the passageway this time - he had yet to see the end of it at any rate - or how many doors he’d passed before he finally chose one on the left and stopped. This one was locked too, but just like the one before the key shoved into the hole with no resistance. 

He was fairly sure at this point that whatever this place was there was nothing threatening down here, so this time he opened the door far enough to see in without crossing the threshold. 

It was a large kitchen. A very modern looking large kitchen. Instead of dirt, it had a real ceiling and real walls, and a tiled floor. If he hadn’t known he was in a hole God only knew how many feet below sea level, he would have thought he’d just unlocked the door to somebody’s very expensive home. 

Everything was white with the exception of gray marble countertops, the gray tile backsplash, and stainless steel appliances, including the huge upper cabinets that reached all the way to the ceiling. The only thing that wasn’t white, and looked completely out of place, was the old fireplace standing in the corner, complete with a brick hearth. 

A large island occupied the center of the room, and standing on the other side of it was Carol. 

_The hell? She’s s’posed to be at the diner on Saturdays._

Her appearance only added to the surprise of finding her in this place. She was wearing the most ridiculous housewife get-up he’d ever seen, complete with a cardigan sweater that had a flowery pattern that looked like it followed her straight out of 1987. 

She looked up to see him standing there and gave him a broad, gentle smile. “Hey, Daryl. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He looked down to see that his feet were still on the passageway side of the door. “I ain’t in,” he said, fully realizing how idiotic it sounded.

“Well, come in then,” she told him, continuing to smile.

He took a step into the room but went no further. Somewhere behind her a timer dinged and he watched as she used a spatula to scoop a single cookie out of one of those little kiddie ovens sitting on the countertop. The kind that cooks with a light bulb that little girls loved way back when he was a kid. She placed it gently on a saucer, the cookie nearly taking up the whole surface, and held it out to him. 

“You want a cookie?” she asked sweetly.

“Nah, I gotta get goin’,” he told her.

“You sure? They’re Rick’s favorite,” she coaxed.

He knew that Rick’s favorite cookies were chocolate chip, which happened to be his favorite too, and he was still hungry so he accepted it with a ‘thanks’. He’d taken two bites when he began to feel strange. Not anything he could really put his finger on, just strange. 

She’d set the saucer on the island and now she was petting a cat that he hadn’t noticed before. More accurately, she was petting the large head of a cat that had a nearly transparent body. It grinned broadly every time she stroked down its back.

He couldn’t help squinting his eyes shut then blinking them open again as if to clear his vision. The cat was still there, and it was still grinning from ear to ear at him. 

The timer dinged again and she took the next cookie and put it on the saucer. He had to wonder if it wouldn’t be easier for her to bake them in the regular oven, a whole pan at a time, but he didn’t say so. It wasn’t his kitchen and they weren’t his cookies. 

She broke off a small piece and turned to a chair beside the hearth, feeding it to the cat that was suddenly curled up on it. He hadn’t even seen it move. He scrubbed a hand down his face, sure that no amount of residual hangover nor a half pint of moonshine could cause him to start seeing things. 

“Goin’ crazy,” he mumbled under his breath.

“It’s okay, we’re all mad here,” the cat purred. 

Daryl’s head snapped up and this time he did a double-take - surely that cat didn’t just talk - but the cat was no longer in the chair. He looked over to see it perched on the countertop beside the little oven where Carol was feeding it another piece of the cookie as it grinned broadly. 

What the fuck?

“Didn’t say I was mad, said I was crazy,” Daryl told the cat. A fact he was now sure of since he was standing there having a conversation with a cat for fuck’s sake.

“Mad, crazy. Tomato, to-mah-to,” the cat purred. 

He shook his head and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes. This place was getting stranger and stranger all the time and all he wanted was to find a way out already.

“Ya know the way outta here?” he asked Carol.

“Try the door at the very end of the hall,” she answered absentmindedly as she continued to feed and pet the cat. 

“S’that the way out?” he asked hopefully, half turning towards the door.

She shook her head, still smiling sweetly at him. “No, but Rick knows the way. I think he’s waiting for you.”

That got his attention. “Rick’s here? An’ he’s waitin’ for me?”

She leveled him with a knowing, sympathetic look and another soft smile. “Oh, Daryl, Rick’s _been_ waiting for you.”

He had no idea what that meant or why Rick would be in a place like this. He turned to leave, determined now to find the end of the passageway no matter how long it took him. He stopped just before he’d closed the door when he heard her call after him and poked his head back in.

“Yeah?”

She gestured toward the hallway. “When you leave, please don’t look at the flowers. They’re terribly shy, and the attention causes them to wilt away. When they come back, they’re not nearly as pretty as they were before,” she said to him as her smile slipped a little, replaced by a warning look.

 

Back in the passage in an effort to avoid looking at the flowers, he looked straight ahead and then up. He was startled to see the dirt ceiling mere inches from his face. The passageway was no longer cavernous, in fact, he was back to ducking and stooping over in places as he made his way along. He still wasn’t sure if the passageway itself was changing, or if something in that moonshine - or Carol’s cookies - was changing him. Either way, he vowed then and there not to put anything else in his mouth while he was in this place, no matter how hungry or thirsty he was.

He might not have been looking at the flowers this time, but he knew they were looking at him (and if that didn’t make him crazy - or mad - he didn’t know what did) because he could still hear them whispering as he passed. He heard “such pretty eyes” followed by a girlish giggle, then “bang him like a screen door in a hurricane” in the same male voice he’d heard the first time. This time he felt the blush all the way to the top of his head. 

At some point as he walked he began to notice that the ceiling was back to a more normal height, and he was relieved to stand tall and stretch his back. He stood for a minute, studying the doors and thinking. He reasoned that the tiny door that led to the garden had been on his right, so one of these doors on his right should also open into the garden. If not into the garden, then at least outside. He tried not to wonder how there could even be an “outside” when he was underground. 

He walked a little farther, hoping the end of the passageway would come into view soon, and couldn’t help thinking that this was like one of those creepy horror movie hallways. The kind that the end stretched further and further away the closer you got. He couldn’t be sure, of course, since he still couldn’t see the end to know if it was stretching away or not.

He stepped over to a door on the right and when he turned the latch it opened easily. He was right, it did lead outside, only this was definitely not the garden he’d seen earlier. Instead, it opened onto a wide path in the middle of a forest. He immediately knew that it wasn’t his forest, the one he knew so well, and it seemed to be darker than it should have been for the middle of the day. Unless he’d been wandering through the passageways and in and out of doors long enough for it to be night already. 

He wondered if maybe he should go back the way he came, if maybe he’d already passed a door that would take him to the garden. No, that would take too long and besides, he had no way of knowing which door was the right one anyway. He wasn’t even sure why he was so set on finding the garden to begin with. Outside didn’t necessarily mean a way out, but he had a feeling the garden might be. 

Since he’d always been at home in the woods more than anywhere else, he decided to follow the path.

 

He hadn’t gone far before the path forked, and he had no idea whether to follow it to the left or to the right. He turned in a slow circle then back the other way, hoping to get his bearings. It proved fruitless, of course. He’d never been in these woods before so nothing looked familiar and any landmarks there might have been meant nothing to him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides in frustration. How the hell was he supposed to figure out how to get out of this crazy ass place?

“Can ya jus’ tell me which way I need to go?” he practically snarled at no one in particular, as he was standing in the middle of the woods by himself. 

“Depends on where ya need to get to.” 

He spun around faster this time, then back the other way again, looking for the source of the voice. He spotted Carol’s cat stretched out and lounging along a low limb of a huge tree that stood at the center of where the path split, still grinning that creepy grin at him.

He stood staring at the cat, and the longer he stared, the more he thought it looked familiar. In fact, the longer he stared, the more it looked like...Maggie? It kind of sounded like her too now that he thought about it. But that was impossible, right? It was a cat for fuck’s sake. 

He thought he’d imagined it before, and surely he was imagining it now. Did that cat…? Just to be sure…

“Don’t really matter as long as I can…” he started. 

“Then it don’t matter which way ya go,” the Maggie-cat answered.

Daryl took a startled step back and blinked several times, then figured what the hell.

“...long as I can get outta...wherever this is,” he finished, waving a hand in the air to indicate the place in question.

“Oh, well you’re sure to do that if ya walk long enough,” the Maggie-cat purred.

“What kinda place is this anyway? Who even lives here?” He refused to acknowledge the fact that he was standing in the middle of these strange woods having a conversation with a cat that looked and sounded like Maggie, and waited for it to answer. 

Suddenly he squinted his eyes - they had to be playing tricks on him - and he thought his mouth might be hanging open a little as he watched the Maggie-cat’s body disappear, looking much like he remembered seeing it in Carol’s kitchen. Then its tail slowly reappeared, leaving it and the cat’s head with nothing in between. 

He dropped his head and let out a weary sigh, and decided right then that he was never drinking again. Well, maybe a few beers with Rick, but definitely no more whiskey with Merle. When he looked back up the Maggie-cat was there - all there - except that now its tail looked something like a corkscrew.

He watched as it waved a paw lazily to its left. “A Mad Hatter lives over there. And over there…” it waved its other paw lazily to its right, circling a sharp claw in the air before it pointed, “...a March Hare. Both crazy if ya ask me, but you can go see them if ya want.” 

“Why the hell would I wanna go ‘round crazy people?” he asked and couldn’t help thinking about his brother. One crazy person was enough.

“Well ya can’t help that, we’re all crazy here. I’m crazy. You’re crazy,” the Maggie-cat explained. 

“How do ya know I’m crazy?” Daryl challenged. 

It twirled another sharp claw, indicating their surroundings. “Ya gotta be crazy, or ya wouldn’t be here.”

“Didn’t feel crazy til I got here,” Daryl grumbled.

“Are ya gonna go see one of them or not?” it asked and almost sounded impatient.

Daryl thought about it. He had no idea what the hell a Hatter even was. Come to think of it, he didn’t know much more about a March Hare other than it must be a rabbit. Rabbits he knew. 

He shook his head resignedly. “Think I’ll go see the Hare.”

“See, ya are crazy. The Hatter’s hot. I mean, the Hare’s hot too, but the Hatter’s more _your_ kind of hot,” the Maggie-cat explained. 

“What?” What the hell did it mean ‘ _his_ kind of hot’?

The Maggie-cat didn’t answer this time. Instead, he watched as it slowly disappeared, little by little. Only the grin remained for a long moment before it disappeared, too. 

He stood looking around and suddenly realized that he couldn’t remember which way was which. Shit, he’d have to guess. Although if they were both crazy he didn’t suppose it mattered much anyway.

Actually, it really made no difference to him at all which way he went as long as whichever one he met could tell him where Rick was. He wasn’t sure how he knew, just a feeling really, but somehow he knew that if he could find him, Rick could show him which way to go. 

He turned and started off down the path to his right.

 

Only a few minutes later, at least he thought it was only a few minutes later, he came to an enormous tree that grew directly in front of him. The trunk took up the entire width of the path, its roots winding through the underbrush on either side as far as he could see. When he looked up he could barely make out the top of it, it’s limbs spread out far above the tops of the trees surrounding it.

With no other choice but to go around it, he stepped off of the path. He’d taken barely three steps when he noticed a door in the trunk no more than waist high. He studied it for a minute, debating whether to see what was behind it or keep going. Eventually, his curiosity won and he tried the latch. Of course it was locked. Once again he dug the key out of his pocket only half expecting it to fit the lock and was pleasantly surprised when it pushed easily into the hole. 

He had no idea where he expected the door to take him, it being in the trunk of a tree and all, but now that it was open he had to know so he crouched low to squeeze through. 

He stood to full height and looked around, and found himself standing in the long, endless passageway again. 

Shit.

He turned around intending to go back through the small door, but it was no longer there. He cursed under his breath and his hands curled into fists once again. This time he was ready to kick in the next door that he came to. 

When he turned back to the passageway though, he could finally see the door at the end.

Thank fuck.

Walking quickly this time, perhaps out of fear that the door would disappear if he didn’t reach it in time, he was finally standing in front of it. If Carol was right then this was where he’d find Rick, and he felt no small measure of relief at the feeling that everything was going to be okay.

He could see that this door was different from all the rest. It was a double door, rounded at the top and far more ornate than the others. There was a tiny brass placard affixed to the door on the left, and squinting he could just make out the words “Mad Hatter”. While he had intended to visit the Hare and had clearly taken the wrong path, this had to be the same Mad Hatter the Maggie-cat had told him about. What the hell was a Hatter anyway and what would Rick be doing here with him? Or her? Was it even a person? Were they pissed off mad, or crazy mad as the Maggie-cat had implied? He supposed he’d never get the answers to his questions standing there staring at the door, so he knocked.

He waited a long moment but heard nothing from the other side so he knocked a little louder. Still nothing. He reached down to test the latch and found it unlocked, so he pushed it open. 

It opened onto an expansive garden, although he couldn’t be sure it was the same garden he’d seen at the other end of the tiny passageway. There were brightly colored flowers and flowering bushes everywhere, large and small fountains spewing rushing water into their basins scattered throughout, and lush trees that still held the rich green of summer although he knew that fall was quickly approaching. The entire lawn was pristinely manicured.

Perched on the leaf of a sturdy flower in the nearest bed was a caterpillar that looked a lot like Dale’s bait. It was much smaller, although larger than the average caterpillar, and it had the same cartoonish look to it. Eyeing it suspiciously, he had to wonder if it was the same one. 

Standing here and there among the flowers, speared into the ground on wiry legs, were an assortment of lawn ornaments. He saw deer and pink flamingos, hedgehogs and woodchucks. 

Farther out there was a rustic wooden fence that circled the garden. Well, it might have been rustic, or it might have just been in disrepair, either way, it looked out of place surrounding the neat and tidy garden. 

He looked to his right and could see what looked like a vegetable garden planted close to the fence if the wooden stakes protruding from the ground were any indication, although he wasn’t sure he understood why the stakes should be honed to sharp points at the top. 

To the left of the garden and further down the fence was what he was sure was a hog pen. He’d never known anyone to keep a hog pen so close to a vegetable garden or a beautiful flower garden. Then again he’d never seen flowers with dirty minds and blushing faces or a disappearing cat that talked, so who was he to judge?

He turned and looked to his left and saw that this side of the garden was bordered by the forest. He could only assume it was the same forest he’d found himself in before - if not then exactly how big was this place - except this forest wasn’t dark at all and appeared somewhat unnatural, in his opinion anyway. It almost looked like it was as pristinely manicured as the lawn. 

Further down the tree line he saw a picnic table and from where he stood it looked to be set for a meal. He didn’t see another person in sight as he walked over to it, but he reasoned that if somebody else did show up they’d come to the table just as he had. 

He stopped beside the table and saw that he was right, it was set for a party. Just what kind of party was up for debate, but still. The only kinds of parties Daryl had ever been to were cookouts, Carl’s or Judith’s birthday parties, and quite a few keggers back in the day. He knew nothing about fancy garden parties but he still didn’t think that was what he would call this one. Not exactly. 

The plates and teacups were what he was sure was fine china, even the cutlery looked dainty, but none of the pieces matched. What he’d first thought was a fancy lace tablecloth was made of paper, like the ones you could buy at the dollar store. And the table itself was surely nothing fancy, it was only a wooden picnic table. 

He looked closer and realized it was Rick’s picnic table. The one Rick had built himself that sat in his backyard not far from Judith’s kiddie pool. Except now it was twice as long, as were the matching benches that sat on either side of it. He was sure it was Rick’s though, and lifting the edge of the paper lace he saw that he was right. There on the corner of the table were the jagged initials “CG” that Rick had told him Carl had carved there years ago. In addition to the benches, there were two matching chairs placed at either end. Two rather large, ornately carved chairs that looked entirely out of place sitting at a picnic table.

As fancy parties went, the food didn’t look much fancier than the table. In fact, he’d never seen such an odd assortment, even growing up dirt poor as he had. He saw tins of fruit that looked as if they had all been opened with a knife instead of a can opener, their lids jagged and bent so they were standing open. There was more mismatched cutlery, some of it plastic, stuck in each one. 

There was a large serving bowl that looked to be silver, and maybe a little bit fancy, that was filled with chocolate pudding, the one beside it filled with some kind of jerky. A large tray held peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, another held what he was sure were Carol’s cookies, and yet another held what he thought might have been tarts - raspberry maybe, or cherry, hell he didn’t know - with hearts cut into the top crust. Or they could have been little bitty pies, he had no idea. 

There were also several small bottles of water and diet soda. The only thing he couldn’t identify, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to, was a large bowl of something green that he thought might be soup although it looked a little thick for that.

Maybe this wasn’t a fancy party at all. It looked more like a white trash brunch, he thought, as he eyed up the jar of pigs’ feet sitting in the middle of the table. 

It suddenly occurred to him that if this was where Rick was, then this must be the party he had bailed on Dale to come to. Hopeful that he would find his friend here after all he looked up...and found himself staring into Rick’s clear blue eyes.

He was seated at the other end of the table in one of the large chairs, watching Daryl with a soft smile. Daryl stared back at him for a long moment, then once his heart stopped fluttering and his stomach stopped its crazy flopping he couldn’t help but notice the way Rick was dressed. 

Or not dressed, depending on how you looked at it. 

The first thing that caught his eye was the brown leather top hat. Not his usual cowboy hat that he wore to work, but a top hat. There was a small chain, bronze or tarnished gold in color, that circled the hat just above the brim, the end of it dangling just over the edge. Attached to the end of the chain was a small key of the same color. Oddly enough there was a sheriff’s badge pinned to the front of the hat and unless he was crazy (which he had already decided was a distinct possibility), the badge was made of wood and had the words “Sheriff Rick” written on it in black crayon. But that wasn’t really even the strangest part. 

He was shirtless, and he was wearing a red bow tie.

Rick was still smiling at him, and not only did he not look surprised that he was there, he looked as happy to see Daryl as Daryl was to see him. 

If he thought about it, Daryl supposed there were any number of things he could have said Like, ‘hey, Rick’, or ‘how’s it goin’, Rick?’, ‘good to see ya, Rick’, or even the old cliche ‘fancy meetin’ you here, Rick’. 

What he said instead was, “The hell are ya doin’ here, Rick?”

Rick was still smiling but he looked confused by the question. “What do you mean what am I doing here? I live here.”

Daryl turned in a slow circle and looked around again before stopping to face his friend. “Ya live here? In a garden?”

“Of course not, Daryl. I live that way,” he gestured vaguely behind his chair. “This is just the garden.”

Daryl studied him for another long moment and couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to ask.

“What’s with the hat?” he asked, motioning to the top hat sitting slightly askew atop Rick’s curls. 

Rick raised his eyes to look at the brim as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh, I couldn’t find my other hat. I think somebody must have taken it.”

“Uh huh. Why is your badge pinned to your hat?” he asked, then couldn’t help adding, “Is it even a real badge?”

“Because, Daryl, I’m not wearing a shirt to pin it to,” he pointed out as if it made perfect sense. 

“Yeah, I see that. Um...does that badge say ‘Sheriff Rick’?” he asked, pointing to the front of his hat.

“Oh yeah. I didn’t want anybody takin’ this one, so I put my name on it,” he explained. “Smart, huh?”

“Yeah.” Because Daryl had no idea what to say to that. “Hey, Rick?” 

“Yes, Daryl?”

“So...uh...why ain’t ya wearin’ a shirt?” Daryl asked. 

“I spilled tea on it. Hershel’s washin’ it out for me,” Rick answered.

“But ya got a bow tie on,” Daryl pointed out.

“Well yeah, Daryl. You’re supposed to dress up for tea parties aren’t you?” Rick said, again as if it should make perfect sense.

A _tea_ party?

Before he could answer, and he had no idea what to say to that anyway, he looked over to see a rabbit approaching. At least he thought it was a rabbit. It sure looked like a rabbit, except for the fact that it was wearing a tailcoat, and a bow tie, and it was walking upright on its hind legs, and it was as tall as both of them. But the long pointy ears, the whiskers, and the twitching pink nose definitely said ‘rabbit’. 

It looked at Daryl and gave a polite nod before seating itself on the bench to Rick’s right. Rick turned to look at it but offered no greeting, he just stared. He tilted his head and stared some more. Then his eyes widened and his jaw set as if he were trying to communicate silently with the rabbit. 

“What?” the rabbit finally spoke and sounded thoroughly confused. 

“What are you doing here?” Rick whisper hissed.

“What do you mean what am I doing here? You invited me here,” the rabbit said, following Rick’s lead and dropping its own voice to a whisper. 

“I invited you?” Rick asked.

“Yes! Hershel brought me the invitation yesterday. It was plainly addressed to March Hare and it plainly said I was invited to a tea party with the Mad Hatter on this day, at this time,” the rabbit explained.

_These_ two were the Hatter and the March Hare? This was seriously a _tea_ party? Although, the Maggie-cat had been right. Rick was definitely his kind of hot.

“Yes, but didn’t you get the un-invitation?” Rick asked.

The rabbit, or rather the hare, sat up straighter and squared its shoulders. “Yes, I did. But there is no such thing as an un-invitation. You made that up and I have to say it is quite un-polite.”

They leaned in closer as they continued to whisper. Although they may as well not have bothered as loud as they were unless they had completely forgotten he was standing there.

“At any rate,” Rick said, “the tea party was at two o’clock.” He looked at his watch. “It’s now six o’clock. You’re late, and I think _that_ is quite un-polite,” he said with a mocking tone.

The hare reached over and grasped Rick’s wrist, looking at his watch. “You never got your watch fixed, did you? That’s wrong,” he said, pointing to it. “It’s exactly two o’clock.”

“My watch is right twice a day and right now it says that it’s six o’clock. So it’s six o’clock,” Rick insisted. 

Daryl stared in disbelief. On any other day, he might have judged his friend harshly for arguing with a hare in a tailcoat. At the very least he would have been worried that Rick was wandering the streets of Crazy Town. But seeing as he’d only recently had a conversation with a disappearing cat he couldn’t help but feel a little relieved that he wasn’t the only one. 

He watched as Rick tilted his head again. He shifted his eyes and barely tipped his head in Daryl’s direction as if to silently indicate him standing there. 

The hare twitched its pink nose and turned to look at him. “Hi, Daryl,” it said, then turned its attention back to Rick.

Wait just a damn minute. Was that hare...Asian? He took a half step to the side and studied it more closely. Was that fucking hare...Glenn?

The Glenn-hare turned back to Rick. “You don’t invite someone to…” He stopped suddenly and stared at Rick. His gaze traveled down and then up again as if noticing for the first time that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He turned and looked at Daryl, then back at Rick again and whispered, “Ohhhh. Daryl.”

Rick breathed an over-exaggerated sigh. “Yes. Daryl.”

The Glenn-hare looked at Rick’s watch again. “You know what? Silly me...I’m so sorry. You’re right, it _is_ six o’clock after all. I just remembered I have to...I have a thing...a date...I have a date at six...with the cat,” it stammered.

Wait. The _hare_ had a date with the _cat_? Seriously, what the hell kind of place was this? 

On the other hand, it kind of made sense. He and Rick had suspected for a while now that Glenn had a thing for Maggie. 

Rick’s eyes widened. “Really? You finally asked her and she said yes?” he asked happily.

The Glenn-hare’s shoulders sagged. “Well...no...not exactly. You see, I’m afraid she’ll say no,” it said dejectedly.

“I don’t think she will,” Rick said and laid a reassuring hand on the Glenn-hare’s shoulder. “Besides, if you don’t ask the answer will always be no, right?”

“I guess you’re right,” it replied with a sigh. 

“So go. Go ask her,” Rick told him, then dropped his voice back to a loud whisper. “And even if you don’t go ask her, go somewhere. Because Daryl’s here,” and he gave the Glenn-hare a wink.

Daryl wasn’t really sure what to think of that.

“Oh. Right.” The Glenn-hare stood up quickly and said, “Bye, Daryl” before hurrying off the same way he’d arrived.

Rick turned and faced Daryl again with his smile back in place as if they’d never been interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to be honest here. I've had some crazy ass dreams, and I'm not ashamed to say that some of them have involved our beloved TWD characters. Well, maybe just a little. I promise I was sober, my head's just a crazy place. ;P


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick has managed to get rid of the Glenn-hare. Let's get this tea party started...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the reads, kudos, and sweet reviews! They make me smile. Huge love to y'all! <3
> 
> Speaking of smiling...is anybody else still grinning like an idiot after last night's premiere? I can't be the only one.

_The hare stood up quickly and said, “Bye, Daryl” before hurrying off the same way he’d arrived._

_Rick turned and faced Daryl again, his smile back in place as if they’d never been interrupted._

**********

“Sorry about that, Daryl,” he said and pointed to the chair at the other end of the table. “Go ahead, sit. I’m glad you could make it to our tea party,” he said as if Daryl had known all about it.

Daryl was confused. _Our_ tea party? Had Rick been expecting him? There’s no way he could have known that Daryl would go hunting this morning and fall into a hole, so why would he have thought he would be here?

“Didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout a tea party, Rick,” Daryl said. 

“Well, no, but my plans changed at the last minute. It doesn’t matter anyway,” he shook his head and dismissed the thought with a wave, “you’re here now and that’s what matters. And I’m glad you could make it.”

That didn’t make a lick of sense to Daryl, and in no way explained anything, but he did as Rick said and sat. He’d barely settled his ass into the large chair when another movement caught his eye and he looked up to see Hershel making his way over to the table. He was still hobbling - although he looked a little more steady on even ground - and he was carrying a large serving platter. 

From this distance, it looked very much like a roasted pig with an apple stuck in its mouth and Daryl felt his stomach growl at the thought of it. But when Hershel set the platter in the middle of the table he saw that it wasn’t a pig at all, but a very miniature deer. He jumped to his feet.

“Sumbitch that’s _my_ deer,” he growled, pointing at what he immediately recognized as his own bolt still protruding from the flank. It was now as miniature as the deer, and he couldn’t begin to explain how that had happened, but he knew it was his just the same.

Rick held up his hands with his palms out and spoke with a calm tone. “Settle down, Daryl. Sit. It’s okay, I’m goin’ to share.” He indicated the variety of roasted vegetables that surrounded the deer on the platter. “We have vegetables to go with it. I grew them in my garden down by the fence.” 

Daryl glanced in the direction of the garden then back to Rick.

“Do you want a beer?” Rick asked. 

“Uh, yeah. Beer would be good,” Daryl answered distractedly.

Rick’s shoulders dropped and his smile faltered for a second. “Sorry, all I have is tea,” he apologized. 

“Then why’d ya ask if I wanted a beer?” Daryl asked. 

“I always offer you a beer, Daryl. I wish I had one too, but I only have tea,” he answered.

Hershel lifted a large teapot and began pouring tea into what Daryl now realized was a beer stein. On the front of it - in black crayon - was printed “Drink Me”. 

_No shit_ , Daryl thought.

“Rick, why ya servin’ tea in a beer mug?” Daryl asked, noting the other teacups sitting around the table. 

“Because I don’t have any beer to put in the beer mug, Daryl,” he explained patiently as if Daryl knew the first damn thing about serving beverages at a fancy garden party. 

Daryl stared at his friend who was usually so straightforward. He had never been one to talk in circles and he was starting to wonder if maybe Rick had fallen into this place the same way he himself had, only instead of a knee or his elbow, he’d bumped his head - several times - on the way down. 

Daryl looked over at Hershel, who didn’t seem at all taken aback by this strange conversation. He had taken out his pocket watch and was studying it intently. There was a towel draped over his forearm like a waiter might use, but when he looked closer he saw that it was actually a shirt. He assumed it was Rick’s shirt, the one Hershel had been cleaning the tea stain from, and he hated to think that Rick was going to put it back on. One of his favorite things had always been a shirtless Rick.

“I’m gonna to go now, Rick. I’m gonna be late as it is,” the farmer said.

“Yeah sure, Hershel. Thank you, I really appreciate it,” Rick said as Hershel turned to go. 

Daryl couldn’t help noticing that he took Rick’s shirt with him, and he only hoped the old man got out of sight before Rick remembered it.

Daryl looked at the stein thoughtfully. He remembered the cookie and the moonshine and the strange way he’d felt after he ate and drank them, and he hesitated. This was Rick, though. Rick was a cop through and through, as honest as the day was long. No way was there anything funny about the tea. He took a long drink, and then another. There was no ice but it was ice cold nonetheless, and sweet. Without a doubt the best sweet tea he’d ever tasted. He waited for a beat, then another, but he didn’t feel strange at all. 

“So, what’s all this?” Daryl asked, waving a hand at the food on the table.

“Not much really, just whatever I could scavenge together at the last minute,” Rick answered. 

Daryl pointed to the green stuff in the somewhat fancy bowl. “An’ what the hell’s that?” he asked, still not sure if he really wanted to know. 

“Oh, that’s mock turtle soup,” Rick replied matter of factly.

“Turtle soup? Seriously?” Daryl had heard of it, sure, but he’d never known anyone that would actually serve it.

“No, _mock_ turtle soup,” his friend corrected.

“What’s the difference?” Daryl asked, taking another drink of his tea.

“The difference is,” Rick explained, “it’s mock...as in not real...fake...bogus...made-up…”

“Okay, okay, I get it. So it ain’t real turtle soup then,” he said.

“No. Not at all,” Rick said as if it were perfectly okay to say that something was what it wasn’t. 

“It’s green, Rick,” Daryl pointed out.

“Well, that’s because it’s pea soup.” Rick’s nose turned up a little in disgust as he said it.

“Ya know we both hate peas,” Daryl reminded him as he drank more tea.

“I know,” Rick said, almost defensively.

“Then why would ya have it at our...tea party? And why the hell would ya call it turtle soup?” And why in the hell was he still calling it a tea party? They were grown men for fuck’s sake. 

“ _Mock_ turtle soup,” he corrected again and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table as Daryl narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re supposed to serve nice stuff at tea parties. Fancy things. Turtle soup sounded much fancier than pea soup,” he shrugged.

Daryl couldn’t help noticing the way Rick’s biceps flexed just a little. The way the muscles in his shoulders rolled when he leaned on his elbows. He became aware of his zipper pressing snugly against his dick, half hard although hadn’t noticed it until now. He closed his eyes for a second and willed it to go down. He seemed to find himself in this predicament a lot here lately when he was around Rick. He was fairly sure his friend had never noticed it, and he didn’t want him to notice it now. 

He swallowed thickly and took another drink of his tea. Barely a minute later he felt his dick swell even more, pressing more insistently against the rough denim. He shifted a little in his chair and told himself it might not hurt to start wearing underwear. 

He looked up at Rick, who was looking at him strangely now. “Are you feelin’ okay, Daryl?” 

“Yeah, m’fine. Must be the heat or somethin’. M’good,” he assured him. 

Come to think of it, he did feel a little flushed. He casually pushed the stein to the side when he suddenly realized that his dick was getting harder every time he took a drink. That was enough tea for today, he thought and reminded himself that he’d vowed not to put anything else in his mouth while he was here.

Then he found himself staring at the key dangling over the brim of Rick’s hat, barely swaying from side to side. It was damn near hypnotic and he found it hard to look away from it. The longer he stared at it, the warmer his face felt. 

When he finally met Rick’s eyes again, they were locked firmly on his own and he was looking at him in a way that Daryl had only ever hoped for. But it couldn’t be, could it? Rick wasn’t really looking at him all suggestive-like, was he? Surely he was only imagining the heat in those crystal blue eyes that were still boring into his.

Must have been that damn tea.

“You sure? Your face is awfully red.” In one swift move, Rick pulled his feet into the chair underneath him, stood up, and stepped up onto the table. 

It hadn’t occurred to Daryl before now to wonder what else he might - or might not - be wearing. He wore jeans, but his belt was missing so they rode low on his hips. Shit, he made those jeans look really fucking good. Daryl would have expected him to have on his worn cowboy boots, but he was barefoot. 

He fell back heavily into the chair and stared wide-eyed. Rick was standing on the other end of the table wearing jeans, a bow tie, and a top hat. Shirtless and barefoot. And then he was walking across the table towards him.

Goddamn.

His throat had gone dry, then suddenly there was too much spit and he thought he might start drooling as he watched Rick’s long, bowed legs striding slowly down the length of the table. He was vaguely aware of the clatter of teacups being kicked over and the clanging of forks and spoons against plates that were nudged carelessly aside as he went. He swallowed thickly just as Rick reached his end of the table and hopped down to stand beside him, then grabbed his chair and turned it so he faced him more fully.

Daryl looked up at him and sighed quietly when Rick laid his hand against his cheek. 

“You’re hot, Daryl,” he murmured.

Wait. What?

“What?” Daryl asked in disbelief.

“I mean...your face...your face feels warm...you’re all flushed,” Rick stammered, letting his hand fall back to his side.

“Oh,” was all Daryl could manage. Of course it hadn’t meant what he’d thought it meant.

Rick was standing close, and it wasn’t that he had a problem with Rick being close to him, but it was beginning to cause a different problem that there was no way the sheriff wouldn’t notice this time. It also made it nearly impossible for him not to stare at the front of Rick’s pants, which it was also likely Rick would notice if he didn’t stop.

He looked up at the key again instead, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“What’s the key to, Rick?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t nearly as strong this time as he thought it should be. 

“This one?” Rick asked, pointing to the brim of his hat.

Daryl nodded. Between the swinging key and the way Rick was looking at him again, it was hard to find his voice at all. 

Rick didn’t answer right away but instead leaned down to rest a hand on each arm of the chair, effectively caging Daryl in where he sat. Daryl could barely breathe. Shit, he was even closer now.

“This is the key to a door that will take you where you really want to go,” Rick said quietly, as if he were sharing a secret, then he leaned in a little closer, mere inches from his face.

“What’re ya doin’, Rick?” Daryl asked in barely a whisper.

“I’m doin’ what you’ve been wantin’ me to do.” His eyes fell on Daryl’s mouth, barely a glance, then he was looking at him again. “I’m gonna kiss you. That’s what you want isn’t it, Daryl?” 

Daryl could only nod mutely. 

“That’s good because I’ve been wantin’ it, too,” he said and he hesitated again, a hair’s breadth from his mouth, so close that Daryl could feel his warm breath ghosting across his lips and he thought he might die from the anticipation. He didn’t think he could breathe at all and he was frozen where he sat. “By the way, you really are hot,” he whispered. Rick’s lips brushed his, slow and soft, then the tip of his tongue flicked across his bottom lip.

Daryl opened to him instantly, the breath he was holding escaping with a sigh as Rick’s mouth covered his own. He tilted his head and Rick deepened the kiss, exploring with his tongue, impossibly gentle and achingly tender as he took what he’d apparently wanted as bad as Daryl had.

So Daryl let him take. He let Rick lead and he happily followed, savoring this kiss that he had never imagined would happen and that he never wanted to end. His own tongue lapped at Rick’s as he breathed him in, tasted him, drank him down. He tasted like nothing in particular, except he tasted like bright colors and rushing water, deep woods and sunlight and rich green grass. He tasted like everything. 

And he had been right. Rick’s lips were incredibly soft, softer than he had imagined if that was even possible. 

He felt the key tapping softly against his brow and wanted to move it, wanted to reach up and take the hat off completely. He’d meant to do just that but when he lifted his hand it seemed to have a mind of its own and settled on Rick’s hip instead. His skin was warm under his palm, solid but surprisingly soft - in a manly sort of way, of course - and he let his thumb glide back and forth across the bare flesh as he rested his other hand on the opposite hip. He wanted to pull him closer but couldn’t with Rick standing over him like that. 

Rick pulled back far enough to rest his forehead against Daryl’s as he breathed out slowly, then as if reading his mind he stood and grabbed Daryl’s hands, pulling him out of the chair. His arm wound around Daryl’s waist and he pulled him flush against him, his nose brushing his jaw and then nuzzling against his neck, then he released him and stepped back. 

Daryl felt a small ache at the sudden loss of contact and not a little fear at the thought that it was over, that that was it. Rick was finished and that was all he’d ever get. It must have shown on his face because Rick gave him a soft smile as he reached for the hem of Daryl’s shirt and pulled it over his head and off, tossing it into the chair. His arm was back around his waist, his other hand splayed across his back and he pulled him in close again.

“That’s so much better,” Rick sighed.

Daryl was inclined to agree. The feel of Rick’s skin on his was almost better than the kiss and his eyes fluttered closed for the briefest second before focusing on Rick again.

Then a thought occurred to him and his eyes narrowed, studying Rick’s face as if trying to find the answer there before he’d even asked the question. But he really had to know.

“Why, Rick?” he asked softly.

“Why what? Why’d I kiss you?” Rick asked. “Because I wanted to, and because I thought you wanted me to.” 

“I did...I do...but I thought...ya were married...an’ I jus’ thought…” he trailed off.

“Ah,” Rick said once he understood what Daryl was getting at. “You thought I was straight.” 

Daryl nodded. 

“Wait. You really thought I was straight?” Daryl nodded again. “Daryl, how many times have I noticed a hot guy? How many times have you seen me check out a guy’s ass? We even watched gay porn that one time.” He shrugged. “I always assumed you knew I was bi and just weren’t makin’ a big deal out of it.”

A fresh surge of hope bloomed in his chest but Daryl only shrugged. “We were drunk that one time, an’ I always thought ya were doin’ that stuff ‘cause I’m gay an’ ya were jus’ bein’ a friend is all.”

Rick leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his throat, then an open mouth kiss further up his neck. Daryl’s cock was full-on throbbing in his pants by the time he nipped at the sensitive skin below his ear and then at the lobe. He pressed his mouth to Daryl’s ear and whispered in a low, husky voice that Daryl had never heard before, but most definitely wanted to hear again.

“Just so we’re clear, I play for both teams.” His lips skimmed along the shell of his ear, sending a tingle racing down Daryl’s spine. 

He punctuated the last the last two words with his teeth, little nips at the tender skin of his neck, and Daryl was sure that he could count every last tooth on his zipper with his cock if he concentrated hard enough. 

“Mmm...” he hummed, his own voice ragged, “...so...uh...which team...ya got a preference?” It wasn’t that he had a burning need to know or anything, he was just curious. Still, he didn’t expect Rick’s answer.

“You, Daryl. I prefer you,” he all but purred against his throat.

Fuck.

Daryl reached up and plucked the top hat from Rick’s head and dropped it on the table beside them, then slid a hand into Rick’s curls, and damn if they weren’t almost as soft as his lips. He pulled Rick away from his throat and covered those soft lips with his, this time taking what he wanted. Their kiss was neither soft nor tender this time, definitely not gentle, but hard and deep, desperate and searing. 

Daryl felt his pants slide down his hips to pool at his ankles, completely unaware that Rick had unbuckled his belt and opened both the button and the zipper. Not that he would have stopped him. 

Never breaking the kiss, stumbling a little only once, he kicked them off, then toed out of his boots and socks leaving him completely naked. His free hand snaked around to Rick’s ass and he pulled him flush against him, the jagged pang of arousal at the feel of Rick’s still clothed erection pressing against his far outweighing the uncomfortable drag of rough denim over his stretched and sensitive flesh.

Still, skin against skin was so much nicer.

“Take ‘em off,” he mumbled against Rick’s mouth.

“Hmm?” Rick hummed. 

“Take ‘em off, Rick. Your pants, take ‘em off,” he repeated.

“Oh, right,” Rick panted, just as breathless as Daryl was. 

Rick laid his hands on Daryl’s shoulders and pushed him gently into the chair and stepped back. Before Daryl could even wonder what he was doing, Rick hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and yanked, the denim separating into two pieces and falling away from his legs. Daryl’s mouth dropped open and he stared wide-eyed. 

Rick arched a brow and gave him a shit-eating grin.

“What the hell, Rick?” Daryl stammered.

Rick leaned down again. “I was really hoping you’d come, Daryl.” He mouthed against his jaw. “You have no idea how much I wanted this to happen.” He slid his lips along the scruff of Daryl’s jaw, sucking and nibbling at his earlobe. “Made it easier to get out of my clothes.”

Whatever response he might have had to that was lost when Rick licked into his mouth for a filthy, wet kiss. Then he suddenly pulled away and stood up, and he might have been looking at Daryl or the garden or the trees but Daryl couldn’t be sure as he was distracted by Rick’s cock standing rigid and straight, the swollen head flushed red, eye level and aimed right at him.

He wasn’t at all surprised that his cock was as pretty as the rest of him. He had imagined it more times than he could count and he had known it would be. Long and straight, not quite as thick as him, but absolutely perfect. He’d often wondered what he would taste like, too, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of the tiny bead that glistened at the tip and he swallowed thickly as his tongue trembled against the backs of his teeth with the overwhelming urge to find out.

He was close enough that he could smell his arousal and his own cocked twitched against his belly as he watched Rick’s fists clench and then relax at his sides. He looked up to find the sheriff staring down at him, watching him intently, his jaw set and his nostrils flared as if he knew exactly what Daryl was thinking. 

“Go ahead, Daryl.” His voice was quiet yet firm.

And yeah, he’d told himself he wasn’t putting anything else in his mouth while he was here but this wasn’t remotely the same, and this was a different kind of hungry, and he didn’t need to be told twice. 

With his hands on Rick’s hips, he leaned in and lapped at slit then wrapped his lips around the head, sighing softly when the salty tang that was singularly Rick burst across his tongue, sweeter than any cookie and more potent than the highest quality moonshine. If he was ever going to be drunk again, he wanted to be drunk off of this.

Gripping the base of his cock with one hand while cradling his balls in the other he let his mouth slide down around him until he could take him no further, moaning softly at the feel of velvety skin and the weight on his tongue. He pulled back, the tip of his tongue trailing softly around the flared crown, flicking at the bundle of nerves beneath the head, causing Rick to buck his hips until his mouth and throat were full again. 

He felt Rick’s hand rest on the back of his head as it bobbed faster and he hummed softly when he felt his fingers slide through his hair until they curled into a fist. He could hear soft panted breaths and mumbled curses above him as Rick’s cock swelled in his mouth and grew harder and just as he was ready to drink him down Rick’s grip tightened and he quickly pulled out of his mouth. 

Before Daryl could argue he pulled him by his hands and began another assault on his neck as soon as he was on his feet. He grabbed his hips and turned him, walking him backward to the table as he spoke.

“Gotta stop that or the party’s over,” he whispered against his throat. 

He hooked an arm around his waist and lifted him far enough that his ass rested on the edge of the table then reached behind him. Daryl heard more rattling and clattering as Rick shoved aside plates and cups and bowls to make room, then nudged Daryl to lay back with a hand on his chest. 

Rick spread Daryl’s legs as wide as they would go, then took each of Daryl’s hands and placed them on the backs of his knees, guiding him to pull his legs back while his hands stroked up and down the backs of his thighs. 

Daryl had never felt more exposed in his life, spread open as he was. He thought he should have felt awkward and uncomfortable, and was a little surprised that he didn’t. Rick was standing over him, skimming his palms down the backs of his legs, then lightly dragging his blunt nails back up, staring at him with heat and want and pure lust in his eyes, and Daryl had never been more turned on.

Rick leaned over him, resting his elbows on either side of his broad shoulders to hold his weight off of his chest as he pressed his hips into Daryl’s lower body. Daryl hissed through his teeth as the slow glide and the smooth, steely friction of Rick’s length against his own sent a rush of heat through his belly to settle between his thighs. 

His fingertips dug into Rick’s shoulder while his other hand gripped his ass in an attempt to pull him closer with every roll of their hips. Rick’s mouth was everywhere, sucking and nipping at his neck and shoulders, kissing along his jaw, softer kisses at the corner of his mouth, the tip of his tongue trailing down his throat, across his shoulder and back. When his mouth closed over the tiny ‘x’ that was tattooed just above his collarbone and he sucked hard, Daryl let out a low growl and his hips bucked wildly. 

Rick pulled back to look at him with a sly grin, damn near leering. “I always wondered what that meant.” 

“Yeah?” Daryl panted. “Now ya know.”

Rick hummed low in his throat as he pulled Daryl into another deep kiss, moving from tender and seeking to desperate and demanding, then back to gentle and sweet just as quickly. The soft, slick glide of his tongue was a sharp contrast to the rigid length grinding relentlessly against his aching cock, and between that and trying to keep up with Rick’s frantic kiss his head was spinning. 

The kiss slowed and Rick pulled back only far enough to whisper against his lips, “This is goin’ to be the best tea party ever.” He went from sucking and nipping at Daryl’s bottom lip to soft, short kisses and back again.

“Rick,” Daryl mumbled against his mouth, barely more than a breathless whisper, but Rick kept going. “Rick...I...I need…”

“Hmm? Tell me what you need Daryl,” he spoke into the kiss, then pulled away far enough to look at him.

“Need ya to stop callin’ it a tea party,” Daryl answered with a half-grin.

Rick huffed out a laugh and nodded. “Okay. I can do that.” 

He kissed him firmly on the lips then stood and stared down at Daryl, and although his gaze was soft and what Daryl thought might even be adoring, he stared long enough that Daryl did begin to feel uncomfortable. 

“What?” he finally asked softly.

Rick smiled that wicked smile again and said, “Sweetheart, I think you might just be the tastiest thing on this table.” Without another word, and leaving Daryl staring wide-eyed, he dropped to his knees. 

He grasped Daryl’s ass and squeezed, then his face became serious and his nostrils flared again as he leaned forward. Starting at the top of Daryl’s ass he trailed his tongue up slowly, circled his sensitive entrance even slower, then continued up to his balls. He licked and sucked at each one in turn, then his tongue made another slow trek back.

He circled his entrance again slowly, teasing at the rim with the tip of his tongue before closing his mouth over the puckered flesh and sucking gently. Daryl couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out as he rocked his hips but he’d have to be embarrassed by it later. Rick’s movements were speeding up now and becoming more intense, the sounds of him licking and sucking gradually becoming louder in the otherwise quiet garden. 

Then without warning, he spread Daryl open and slid his tongue inside as far as it would go.

“Fuck, Rick!” Daryl shouted and his right arm flew up and behind him, seeking something to grab onto as his hips bucked up off the table. 

What he grabbed was the edge of a bowl that held something cool and slimy. His fingers dipped into what he could only hope wasn’t the mock turtle soup. 

Rick’s tongue went deeper, curling and wriggling and flitting side to side and Daryl could barely keep his ass on the table. Soft whimpers and louder moans and maybe a whine here or there fell out of his mouth along with mumbled curses and Rick’s name. Those sounds, mixed with Rick’s quiet groans and the nearly obscene noises coming from between his legs made the whole thing seem downright filthy, which made Daryl love it even more.

Then his tongue was gone only to be replaced by a finger, or maybe it was a thumb, Daryl couldn’t tell nor did he particularly care. Then the digit was gone and his tongue was back, only to be replaced a moment later with two fingers. Or thumbs. 

Daryl’s orgasm was rapidly building and it wasn’t long before he could feel himself creeping closer to the edge, any closer and it really would be over. Still, it was damn near impossible for him to grab a handful of curls and pull Rick away.

“Dammit, Rick,” he panted out. “Gotta stop man or I’ma be done.”

Rick got to his feet and smiled down at him with that same lecherous grin. “I was right, you are the tastiest thing on this table.” 

He noticed Daryl gripping the side of the bowl and shook his head as he took hold of his wrist and brought his hand to his mouth. Daryl was glad to see that it was pudding instead of soup.

“You made a mess,” he said, then wrapped his mouth around Daryl’s index finger and sucked it clean as Daryl gaped at him. When that one was clean he moved on to his middle and then his ring finger, pulling off of that one with a quiet, lewd pop. 

He let go of his hand and skimmed his palm up the underside of Daryl’s cock, sliding his index finger through the precum gathered at the slit as Daryl hummed softly and rolled his hips in response. Daryl’s skin felt like it was on fire as Rick ran his hands from his hipbones to his ribcage and across his chest and back again. 

“Do you want me to fuck you, Daryl?” he asked.

As if Daryl would say no.

“Yeah, God yes,” Daryl answered, still somewhat breathless. “The hell kinda question s’that?” 

“A good host doesn’t fuck his guest without askin’ first, Daryl,” Rick said as if that was something everybody should know. “So I had to ask.”

Yep, the man had definitely bumped his head. 

“Does a good host put his tongue in his guest’s ass without askin’?” Daryl asked.

“Well, you didn’t say no” Rick reasoned.

“An’ I wouldn’t a said...ya know what? Stop talkin’ an’ fuck me, Rick.” Daryl was done having ridiculous conversations and talking in circles. “Want your dick in me an’ I want it now.”

“Damn you’re bossy, but I aim to please,” Rick smiled, then leaned down and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “Stay here. Don’t move. Be right back.”

Daryl tilted his head back and watched him half walk, half jog to the other end of the table, then he was back holding what looked like a crystal sugar bowl in each hand, but neither appeared to hold sugar. He set them on the table by Daryl’s hip and removed the lid from the first one, reaching in and pulling out a foil packet. Then he removed the lid from the second one and dipped two fingers in. When he pulled them out Daryl could see that they were covered in lube. 

“Seriously?” Daryl asked in disbelief.

“What?” Rick asked confused.

“Ya got lube an’ condoms in fancy sugar bowls on the table?” Daryl knew that nothing about any of this should surprise him at this point, but still.

Now Rick looked offended. “You can’t have condoms and lube just layin’ around on the table at a…”

“At a fancy party, yeah I know,” Daryl finished for him. He reached down and wrapped a hand around Rick’s cock and stroked slowly, squeezing a little, just to remind him that he was spread out on his table open and waiting and to hell with fancy parties. “Whatever, Rick. Less talkin’, more fuckin’.”

Rick arched a brow and pushed him to lay back again as he slicked his fingers over his entrance then pushed two fingers in slowly. He was mostly open so it wasn’t long before he added a third, watching enrapt as Daryl rolled his hips and pushed his ass up in an effort to take them deeper. 

“C’mon, Rick. Been waitin’ forever, don’t make me wait no more,” Daryl begged in a hoarse whisper.

Rick withdrew his fingers and grabbed the condom, ripping it open with his teeth and fumbling with slick fingers to get it on. 

Daryl leaned up on his elbows. If this was the only time he got to have this he didn’t want to forget a single minute of it. He watched as Rick grasped his cock and lined himself up, nudging the head against his entrance. He released a long, shaky breath and let his body relax as he pushed in, welcoming the sting as he slipped past that first bit of resistance, then slid all the way in with one long, slow thrust and a throaty groan.

Son of a bitch. With just one stroke Rick had ruined him for anybody else.

Rick pulled almost all the way out, but this time when he thrust back in it was hard and forceful and he didn’t slow down.

“Hell yeah, there ya go. I ain’t gonna break,” Daryl urged him on. 

Rick bore down and pounded into him hard and fast. Dishes rattled and bowls danced across the table with every thrust. The jerky spilled over and the jar of pigs’ feet fell to the bench below.

“Shit,” Rick swore.

“Don’t ya dare stop,” Daryl warned. 

Rick dropped his hips and the next thrust drove the tip of his dick directly into Daryl’s prostate. 

“Ahh...fuck...do that again!” and his left arm shot out this time, grabbing at the edge of the table, knocking into the stein of tea in the process and splattering it across his heaving chest. 

Despite sitting in the heat it was still ice cold, and his nipple was immediately almost painfully hard. Rick reached back over his head and grabbed a napkin, toppling a tin of peaches off the table in the process. 

“Let me clean that up for you,” and he promptly tossed the napkin over his shoulder and leaned down to lap at the taut bud with the flat of his tongue. 

Daryl's hips shot off the table as a fierce pang of arousal shot straight to his cock when Rick took his nipple between his teeth, then lapped at it again to soothe the sting.

Daryl could feel tendrils of sweat as they ran down to pool in the hair at the back of his neck and sweat dripped from Rick’s curls. It was hot as fuck but the slick glide of Rick’s skin against his was heavenly. Just as heavenly was the faint breeze that wafted over their damp skin when he peeled himself away to stand again. He lifted his legs to his shoulders, wrapping his arms tightly around his thighs and setting a furious pace as he peppered kisses across his calves.

Daryl remembered when he was falling thinking he’d died and was on his way to hell. He couldn’t have been more wrong. This was pure heaven and it was quite possible he was doing an entirely different kind of falling. 

Rick held him still while he fucked into him. Daryl couldn’t move, could only lay there and take it, and he became aware that he was making noises he’d never imagined himself making. Being honest he was moaning like a whore, but he couldn’t seem to care. Rick was groaning and grunting and his hips slapped loudly against Daryl’s ass with every hard thrust. Daryl imagined the pristine garden sounded like a porno right then. 

And he could hear Rick mumbling. He heard words and curses and phrases like _so damn tight_ and _too fucking good_ and _fucking perfect_ and that as much as anything was going to make him cum and he didn’t want it to be over. He was fucking close as it was. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and reached down, gripping the base of his cock as hard as he dared. He was as hard as he’d ever been and throbbing, leaking onto his stomach. Heat coiled low in his belly, tighter and hotter with every thrust, his balls felt like they were on fire and his thighs trembled with the effort of trying not to come, trying desperately to make it last.

But Rick wasn’t having it. He pushed Daryl’s legs from his shoulders and spread them wide, then dipped his hips again until he nailed his sweet spot.

“Fuck, Rick! I can’t...I’m gonna…” Daryl yelled. The pleasure was so intense he was almost afraid to give in to it now, afraid he’d fly apart or float away. 

“I know. I told you I was hoping you’d come.” Again as if reading his thoughts he hooked his arms around Daryl’s legs and held tightly. “Open your eyes, Daryl. I want to watch your face while I fuck the cum out of you.”

_Jesus._

He opened his eyes just as Rick reached down and swatted his hand away, replacing it with his own. Two strokes and one more hard thrust was all it took. He cried out as his back arched off the table and he trembled all over with the force of his orgasm. Milky white streams painted his chest and stomach and he thought he saw stars. The harder he clenched around Rick’s thrusts the harder he came. 

Finally drained of every drop, he sat up and hooked an arm around Rick’s shoulders. He licked into his mouth, pulling him into a filthy kiss and swallowing his moans. Without breaking the kiss, Rick suddenly pulled out of him and whipped off the condom, tossing it to the side. He grabbed his cock and stroked himself furiously, panting into Daryl’s mouth. 

Daryl reached down and cupped his balls, then sucked hard on his tongue and that was it. Rick’s hips jerked as his orgasm barreled into him and he came with a long, low moan. Daryl watched as warm spurts of cum streaked his chest to mix with his own release and couldn’t help kissing Rick again. 

Rick pulled back and laid his head on Daryl’s shoulder, his arm wound tightly around his back in an effort to hold them both up. Hearts racing and chests heaving they stayed that way until finally they could breathe properly again. After a few minutes, Rick moved to walk around the table, gathering napkins to clean the mess from Daryl. 

Daryl laid back on the table, utterly spent, and couldn’t help wondering what this meant for the two of them. The only thing he could be sure of was that if he found a way out of this place, or if he never got out, things would never go back to the way they were. Not for him anyway. 

“Open your eyes, Daryl. Look at me,” he heard Rick say. He hadn’t even been aware he’d closed them, and when he opened them Rick was leaning over him again. Daryl’s lips turned up in one of those smiles he rarely ever smiled and Rick couldn’t help smiling back.

“What are you thinkin’?” Rick asked.

Daryl shrugged one shoulder. “Was jus’ thinkin’ we should have tea parties more often.” Then the smile left his face and so did Rick’s.

“What are you worried about then?” Sometimes he forgot how well Rick knew him. 

Daryl almost didn’t get to have this because he’d been afraid to speak up before. He wasn’t afraid now.

“Ya never said anythin’,” Daryl said.

“I know, and I should have. A long time ago.” Rick said. “You never said anythin’ either.” 

“Pssh. Ya know I’m a chickenshit when it comes to stuff like that.” Daryl shook his head and smirked at Rick. “I guess if ya don’t ask the answer’s always no, huh?” 

Rick smiled broadly. “I guess so.”

“So then it ain’t jus’...one an’ done?” Daryl asked quietly?

Rick kissed him softly. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m never goin’ to be done with you.”


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl finally got what he wanted. Didn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure whether to call this part four or an epilogue. Either way, it'll wrap this one up. This chapter is much shorter than the others by half, but I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading. Your kudos and kind words mean the world to me! Big love to y'all! xo

PART IV

 

_“Open your eyes, Daryl. Look at me.”_

_“Open your eyes, Daryl.”_

**********

Daryl woke with a start and for a minute he had no idea where he was. 

He looked around to see that he was in the woods where he’d been hunting, sitting against the tree where he’d stopped earlier for shade and water. 

His woods. 

Not a darker, more pristine forest with wide paths and disappearing cats lounging on limbs. No pretty garden with flowerbeds and fountains and plastic lawn animals. No picnic table set for a fancy tea party.

And no Rick.

But that couldn’t be right, could it? He remembered dozing off before, but he also remembered waking up. He’d woken up and seen the deer. And Hershel. He’d been following Hershel until...the hole. 

He jumped to his feet and took a quick look around, then grabbed his pack and his crossbow and hurried off in the same direction he’d followed Hershel. He didn’t worry about keeping his steps light, didn’t care that he was crunching through leaves and snapping twigs. He wasn’t thinking about game or hunting as he rushed along the path. He knew these woods and he remembered down to the last sapling which way they’d gone before and sure enough when he rounded the bend in the narrow path there was the mountain laurel that Hershel had disappeared behind. 

He slowed his steps as he approached it, not sure now if he really wanted to know. He may not have wanted to know, but he needed to so he circled the bush slowly and stopped on the other side looking down. Nothing. There were no disturbed leaves, no sign that anything or anybody had stepped here, and no burrow. He stomped the ground with his boot, then dropped his pack and his crossbow and got to his knees, pushing leaves and twigs aside to find nothing but solid ground.

He dropped to his ass with a heavy sigh and rubbed a hand over his face then looked up at the sun surprised to see that apparently, he’d slept for a couple of hours. 

And dreamed. Had it been a dream? He never dreamed. He’d had plenty of nightmares in his life but he didn’t remember ever having a single pleasant dream. Maybe he was dreaming right now. He reasoned that he could have dozed off after Rick fucked him senseless and was dreaming that he woke up in his woods. 

That had to be it because that place was just too real. He had smelled the dirt in the passageways and Carol’s cookies. He’d smelled the trees and leaves and moss as he’d walked through those woods. He’d had whole conversations with people, no matter how strange, and the colors in the garden had been so vivid and bright. 

And Rick. That had to have been real. Sure he may have been dressed weird and acted a little strange, and he might have served the worst food ever for a fancy party, but the rest had to have been real. 

When he closed his eyes and tilted his head back he could remember every second of it so clearly. Rick’s soft lips and the taste of his cock as he’d sucked him off. The way his arms had felt wrapped around him. The warm, wet slide of his tongue. The way his strong hands had caused his skin to tingle and set his nerves on fire. How he moved inside him and how his hand had felt wrapped around him as he’d given him the most intense orgasm he’d ever had in his life.

How he’d called him sweetheart and said he’d never be done with him. 

When Daryl opened his eyes and shifted to get up he immediately noticed that his jeans had become much tighter in the front than they were when he sat down. Son of a bitch. He pressed his palm to the front of his pants, rubbing the rough denim against the tender skin of his cock until it became uncomfortable. He tried to thinking of anything from Merle naked all the way to pea soup. The problem was, now that he was thinking about Rick fucking him he couldn’t unthink it. 

He cursed under his breath as he got to his knees and opened his pants, shoving them down just far enough for his cock to spring free then settling back on his heels. He stroked himself from base to tip and back again as he thought about the steely softness of Rick’s length pressing and grinding along his own. He cupped his balls in his free hand and could still feel the weight of Rick’s in his palm as he stroked to the tip again, slipping the pad of his thumb back and forth across the slit, slick with precum and steadily leaking. He could hear Rick panting with effort, could hear _so good_ and _perfect_ in Rick’s voice whispered on quiet moans and he tipped forward, letting go of his balls and throwing his hand out just in time to catch himself as the hand wrapped around his cock sped up. He could feel Rick pounding into him and filling him full as his ass clenched around nothing and his breathing quickened. He was panting and sweating, stroking himself furiously as he fucked into his fist and he heard Rick’s voice clear as day. 

_I told you I was hopin’ you’d come._

He growled low in his throat and his hips stilled, a shudder running through him as he spilled over his hand and onto the forest floor. And it was good, it had felt good. He supposed it always felt good to come.

But it wasn’t Rick.

He stayed that way, bent over in the leaves still gripping his softening cock, sweat dripping from the ends of his hair onto the ground, trying to catch his breath. When his heart was no longer racing and his chest had stopped heaving he sat back on his heels again and pulled the bandana from his back pocket to wipe his hand. He looked over at the spot behind the bush where there should have been a giant burrow and his heart sank. As much as he’d wanted out of that place, right then he wished more than anything that he was back in that garden sitting at a picnic table set with mismatched dishes and tins of fruit and even pea soup, staring at Rick’s ridiculous hat. 

Or just staring at Rick.

He stood on shaky legs, pulling up his pants and fastening them, then picked up his pack and crossbow. He toed at the leaves behind the bush and stomped the solid ground once more for good measure, then turned and walked out of the woods. 

He still felt disoriented, unsure of what was real and what wasn’t. He didn’t know whether to believe it had been a dream or to think that it was real and he was dreaming now. He kept looking up and around him, expecting to suddenly find himself on the wide path in the pristine forest, or surrounded by a dirt passageway and was disappointed each time he wasn’t. 

When he was little his granny had told him once that dreams were your mind’s way of telling you things while you slept, whispering secrets you needed to know or lessons you needed to learn. He hadn’t really thought about it again since all he’d ever had were nightmares, and there wasn’t shit his mind could tell him in a nightmare that he didn’t know plenty about when he was awake. But he thought about it now, and he wondered as he walked if there was something his mind was trying to tell him. 

By the time he reached the truck, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and hungry - again or still, he wasn’t sure - the only thing he could figure his mind was telling him was that Merle would always be Merle and that he was dreaming if he thought he would ever be anything more than Rick’s friend. And that maybe he should get some pigs’ feet the next time he went grocery shopping because he really wanted some now. 

Even with his mid-morning nap, it couldn’t be much past noon. He climbed into the truck and checked his phone to see that it was closer to one. He needed a shower badly so he decided to go home first, face Merle, then go to the diner for lunch. Feeling worse than he had when he’d come out there this morning he started the truck and drove away. 

**********

Merle was gone when he got home but his duffel was still in the middle of the living room floor, so he knew he’d be back sooner or later. He was glad his brother was already gone. He knew he’d have to face the idiot sometime but now was just not the time. He showered and changed quickly, on the off chance that Merle decided to come back sooner rather than later, and left for the diner.

He’d just pulled into the lot and parked when his phone rang. He looked at the screen to see that it was his brother and swore under his breath as he answered it.

“Yeah?” he said curtly.

“Damn, brother who pissed in yer Fruity Pebbles, an’ where ya been all mornin’?” Merle asked.

“Went huntin’,” was all Daryl said.

“Ain’t it too damn hot ta hunt? Ya get anythin’?” Merle asked.

“We playin’ Twenty Questions?” Daryl asked. “An’ no, didn’t get a damn thing. Where ya at anyway?”

“M’out at Joe’s. Say listen, we’re gonna head on down ta Mick’s Tavern ‘round seven, why don’t ya meet us there?” Merle said.

“Nah, y’all go ahead. I don’t much feel like it,” Daryl told him.

“Well, whadaya feel like then?” Merle asked. 

Daryl’s eyes narrowed and he paused before he answered. “Guess I’ll know ‘round seven.”

“Suit yaself. Oh hey, Joe’s got a bran’ new batch, want me ta grab ya a jar?”

Daryl knew he was talking about shine and his stomach lurched a little at the thought. “Hell naw. M’hangin’ up now, Merle.”

He pocketed his phone as he got out of the truck and walked across the lot. Just as he reached for the door handle it pushed open from the inside and Dale walked out, grinning broadly when he saw Daryl. 

“Afternoon, Daryl!” he said and patted him on the shoulder. 

Daryl gave him a nod as he thought back to the cane pole and the fat caterpillar. And glitter.

“Say, Daryl, I’m headed over to drown some worms in Old Man Goldie’s pond. You wanna tag along? Throw out a line?” Dale asked.

Daryl could only stare at him. “You alright, son?”

“Yeah, yeah. M’fine..I jus’...went huntin’ for a while this mornin’ an’ got too hot. Think I better sit this one out,” he explained. 

“Alright, well, if you change your mind you know where to find me,” Dale said and walked off, humming to himself.

 

The lunch rush was over and the diner was busy but not especially crowded at this time of day. Still, he passed up several empty booths in favor of sitting at the counter. He noticed Hershel having lunch, his usual blue plate special, and took the stool beside him. 

“Hey, Daryl, how are you?” Hershel greeted him between bites of Tyreese’s famous beef tips and gravy. 

“M’good, you?” Daryl answered.

“Oh, I can’t complain. Don’t think anybody would listen if I did. The new leg’s been givin’ me a fit, but I’m gettin’ around on it better all the time,” he said with a smile.

“That’s real good,” Daryl said, quickly dismissing the image of Hershel hobbling through the woods. Or down dirt passageways. Or across a colorful garden. 

Just then Carol walked behind the counter and over to him, interrupting his thoughts. “Good afternoon, Daryl. What can I get you to drink? We’ve got fresh lemonade, and I just made a fresh batch of that sweet tea you like so well,” she said with the same sweet smile that seemed to always be on her face. He was glad to see that she was wearing her typical t-shirt and jeans. 

He wasn’t really feeling like tea, so he ordered a Coke instead, along with his usual burger and fries. 

“I’ll go get that started for you,” she said. “By the time you’re finished eating I’ll have cookies right out of the oven.”

 _A little bitty light bulb oven?_ Daryl thought before he could stop himself. “How’s Sophia?” he asked, just to change the subject. 

Carol sighed. “She’s a little upset actually. Her cat, Britches, just up and disappeared last night and we’ve looked everywhere. I imagine he’s up a tree somewhere and he’ll come home when he gets hungry.” 

So much for changing the subject.

“Probably,” Daryl said. “If I see him I’ll grab him an’ bring him home.” 

While he waited for his food, which he suspected wouldn’t take long since Tyreese was manning the kitchen, he made small talk with Hershel. He asked Daryl about his hunt and Daryl asked after Ms. Annette and Maggie and Beth. Before long Carol set his plate in front of him, and alongside that a cookie on a saucer. 

“That one’s still warm and on the house, I know chocolate chip’s your favorite,” she said and patted his hand. 

Daryl swallowed thickly. Despite the shower earlier and the cool interior of the diner, he felt a little warm and nearly as disoriented as he had been back in the woods.

It didn’t help matters a bit when he turned to see Hershel studying his pocket watch with a shake of his head. “I’d love to stay and keep you company, Daryl, but I’m late for a choir meetin’ at church,” he said. “I’ll see you later.” He got up and left, leaving Daryl the only one at the counter.

Carol came over and refilled his Coke then cleared Hershel’s dishes from the counter. She was wiping it down when she said, “Looks like you’ll be eating alone today, Daryl.” Then her face brightened and she added, “Or maybe not.”

Before he could turn to look he felt a hand clap him on the back and he’d know that hand anywhere, especially now, and a slow southern drawl that he knew he shouldn’t love so much spoke close to his ear.

“Looks like I’m just in time for the party. I’ll eat with you, Daryl.” He looked over in time to see Rick take the stool that Hershel had just vacated. 

Shit. He felt a blush creep up his neck to his cheeks and all the way to his ears. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look the man in the eye again. He was sure he’d never see him the same again.

“You okay, man? You look a little flushed.” Rick said with concern.

He’d had just about enough of people asking him if he was okay and he almost snapped at Rick before he reeled it in. “M’fine. Jus’...had a little too much to drink with Merle las’ night. Then tried huntin’ this mornin’ out in the heat.” 

Rick’s food came and they made small talk while they ate. If Rick noticed that Daryl barely looked at him he didn’t mention it. Halfway through their meal, Daryl couldn’t take it anymore. Rick was acting like everything was okay, like Daryl hadn’t canceled on him at the last minute the night before and it only made Daryl feel worse. 

“Look, m’sorry I bailed on ya last night,” he said, still barely able to look him in the eye.

Rick waved him off as he took a bite of his club sandwich and washed it down with a drink of tea. “Don’t even worry about it, Daryl. Merle’s only around once in a blue moon, we can go shoot pool anytime.”

“Still, woulda much rather been shootin’ pool with ya than gettin’ shit faced with Merle,” Daryl argued.

Rick huffed out a laugh. “I appreciate that, but he’s the only brother you’ve got.” 

“He’s an asshole,” Daryl stated simply.

Rick nodded. “Yeah, he’s an asshole, but he’s still your brother.” 

“So,” Daryl asked, “whatcha got planned for the rest of your day off?” 

“I’m actually goin’ to do a little strippin’,” Rick said casually and took another bite of his sandwich.

Daryl almost choked on a french fry.

He cleared his throat and arched a brow. “Strippin’?” he asked, trying hard not to imagine Rick shirtless and wearing a red bow tie. Or in a pair of low slung jeans and barefoot.

“Yeah, that old picnic table I built has a lot of wear and tear. I was goin’ to strip it and sand it, give it a fresh coat of stain,” he explained. 

Dear God, he couldn’t even think about that picnic table right now. The edge of the countertop hiding his lap was the only thing saving him from complete and utter embarrassment as it was. 

“If you don’t have anythin’ planned, why don’t you come over and give me a hand?” he continued. “It’s pretty hot out and you’ll work up a good sweat but don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of beer.”

Daryl stared at his plate and didn’t say a word.

“Sorry. If you don’t want any more alcohol I’ve got tea. Maybe later I’ll light the grill and fix us some dinner. I’ve still got those deer steaks you gave me a while back. It won’t be anythin’ fancy, but it’ll be somethin’.” Rick set his sandwich down and took a slow breath before he continued. “Look, to be honest, Daryl, I’m not in the mood for pool tonight, but I really don’t want to sit around the house by myself.”

Fuck, Rick was killing him and he didn’t even know it. 

Carol came over and refilled their glasses and looked at him with a knowing smile. He knew she had been listening to their conversation, she listened to everybody’s conversations while she pretended to wrap silverware because she was nosy like that. Right now though, she looked like she knew a secret that he wasn’t in on.

Rick pushed his plate away and turned to face him. With one arm on the counter, he rested the other one across the back of Daryl’s chair and there was no mistaking the barely there brush of his thumb, back and forth on his back. It was slight, but it was there. Rick used his arm to turn the stool towards him, just enough so that Daryl would finally have to look at him. 

“I really hope you’ll come,” he said.

Daryl’s knee jerked and bumped the front of the counter, but Rick didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice anything but Daryl at the moment and he was staring at him intently. He looked anxious like he was hoping Daryl would come and keep him company but thought there was a chance that he might not. But there was something else there, too. He was looking at him in a way that Daryl had never seen before. 

Except he had.

His pulse quickened and his breath caught in his throat when he realized that the only other time Rick had ever looked at him like that was in his dream. But it wasn’t just that look, the air between them was different. It was suddenly thicker and there was an energy there that Daryl had only ever felt...in his dream. 

Daryl felt like an idiot. Had it been right there in front of him this whole time? How had he missed it? Had he been too busy convincing himself that Rick would never want him like that to see that he did?

Suddenly everything was crystal clear. The first of only a few valuable lessons Merle had ever taught him was that the signs were there, you just had to know how to read them. Everyone he’d seen here at the diner had been in his dream, and the things they’d said - either in the dream or here - couldn’t all be a coincidence. Could they? 

He might have thought so five minutes ago, but not now. Not with the way Rick was looking at him. Patiently now, he thought. As if he was waiting for Daryl to get it. Waiting for it to sink in. Not with the way his thumb was still tracing a barely there, invisible arc into his t-shirt and causing his skin to tingle with every pass. 

He’d been a coward and kept his feelings to himself, too scared to say anything and risk making things awkward or losing Rick completely. He couldn’t help thinking that whatever he’d thought they’d shared in that dream, the real thing would be so much better.

“How about it, Daryl? You want to help me refinish a table then have dinner with me later?” Rick asked, cutting into his thoughts. 

That “have dinner with me later” sounded so much different than the “grab a bite to eat” he’d always heard, and he wasn’t going to be a coward anymore.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that,” he finally answered, surprised when Rick looked almost relieved.

“Okay, good,” Rick smiled. He dug out his wallet and threw some bills on the counter while Daryl did the same, then dug into his wallet again. “I’ve got to run by the hardware store and pick up a couple of things but I won’t be long,” he said, stuffing his wallet back into his back pocket. “If you want to go on over here’s the spare key. It’ll let you in the back door, just go on in and make yourself at home.” 

He handed Daryl a tarnished gold key. 

_This is the key to a door that will take you where you really want to go._

Daryl took the key from him and smiled. “A’right then, Sheriff Rick,” he said and turned to leave, completely missing the broad smile on Carol’s face and the strange look Rick gave him as he walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it was only a dream. Dammit. Sorry if y'all panicked a little! But you had to know I'd give our boys a happy ending. :)  
> Thank you again for venturing down the rabbit hole with me! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you just hate it when you're in the woods hunting, minding your own damn business, and you fall in a big ass hole?
> 
> I'll be posting Part 2 tomorrow. Parts 3 and 4 will post on Monday and Tuesday.


End file.
